Don't Make Me Haunt You
by SquishyCool
Summary: There's this weird thing that Beth Greene experiences sometimes. But it's been several years since it happened so she tries to forget about it. Until a strange man named Merle shows up one day and refuses to leave. As it turns out, this man is dead. And she's the only one who can see or hear him. Oh - and apparently, she needs his brother's help to solve the whole conundrum.
1. Old Wives' Tale

**A/N: **I prefer AO3 these days so please subscribe to me over there if you want updates as soon as they're posted. I'll crosspost here when I have the time but it won't always be up to date.

* * *

**Old Wives' Tale**

Beth's mother had always told her that she'd been a very chatty baby. According to Annette, the youngest Greene child had always been curious and full of life. She said Beth's head was always on a swivel, her eyes were always gazing around and searching and staring with fascination at things that weren't really there. And when she began talking, it always seemed to be directed towards walls or shadowy corners - as though she were talking to someone that Annette couldn't see.

"There's an old wives' tale that babies and children can see things that grown-ups can't - like spirits and demons and what-have-you," Beth's father, Hershel, would eventually explain to her. "Your mama's always had a wild imagination. And old wives' tales are nothing more than that: tales. Like fairytales. You were just like any other baby, maybe a little more… curious. But that don't mean nothin', Doodlebug. Ghosts aren't real."

At seven years old, Beth had a wild imagination, too. And it was fed by the Bible and all the things she heard and read about in Sunday School, all the things her family repeated regularly. "But what about angels? Or spirits? What about people's _souls_, Daddy? After they die? Where d'they go?"

Hershel had chuckled a bit and stated, "Well, people's souls either go to Heaven or Hell. They don't stick around here, sweetheart. And angels are real, sure. But I can't say I've ever personally seen one. Remember, the Lord works in _mysterious_ ways."

She had a lot more questions but she didn't want to ask them anymore. She didn't bring it up again after that.

Beth was nine years old when she first saw someone that wasn't there. As far as she could remember, anyway. There always seemed to be shadows moving in the corner of her eye, people vaguely appearing and then vanishing. She mostly thought she was dreaming when it happened. But this time, the lady appeared solid on the other side of the fence. Beth was playing outside of her elementary school during recess and when she went to retrieve the kickball, the lady showed up. Just like that - out of nowhere.

She was older but not quite middle-aged. She gripped the chainlinks and leaned in close to the fence, staring at Beth with wild eyes. When she realized that Beth was staring back, she grinned so wide that it was frightening.

"Little girl - you can see me?" The lady asked, her voice high-pitched and fearful.

Beth didn't know what to do. She nodded meekly, tiny fingers gripping tightly to the big red kickball in her hands.

"Can you help me? Please, I-I'm so lost, I don't know - "

"Beth! Bring the ball back!"

Beth snapped her head around to see her group of friends approaching from across the grass, calling for her, and when she turned back, the lady was gone.

She couldn't stop thinking about it for weeks afterwards, but she didn't dare speak of it. Even when she'd asked one of her friends if they saw the woman on the other side of the fence, her friend had made her feel weird and given her a very confused look. Beth wrote it down in her journal and then tried to forget it ever happened.

Which she did. Until it happened again almost a year later. This time was vastly different, though.

There was a fire a few miles down the road. A big one. The house had been occupied by an elderly couple whose children lived several states away. Hershel and Annette checked in on them frequently but one night, the house had caught fire and by the time anyone could get there, everything was consumed in flames. Needless to say, the elderly couple died. Although when exactly they passed and how long it took was a mystery to everyone.

But Beth knew, because she'd seen their souls leave. Standing out on the front lawn, staring up at the crackling flames that licked toward the night sky, she'd glanced down just in time to see the familiar elderly couple emerging from the crumbling front door. They were unharmed and she could see them smiling, walking hand-in-hand through the fire and away from it. She stared in awe as they crossed the lawn and passed right by her, a shiver running down her spine. And when she turned around to see where they were heading, they'd already disappeared.

She definitely didn't say anything about that particular night to anyone. She'd been hearing stories at school about one of her classmates' father and how he was "crazy" and "seeing things" and "getting locked up so he won't hurt anybody." She knew what happened to people like that - people like _her_. So she wrote about what she saw and how it made her feel in her well-hidden journal and then never thought about it again.

There were a couple more weird incidents, countless shadows that she'd glimpse from the corner of her eye, dozens of silhouettes in the far-off distance that faded away like fog. Strange voices calling out to her from seemingly nowhere. But nothing really notable.

And then it suddenly stopped. She wasn't sure if it had something to do with going through puberty, but once her period came and her hips began to widen and her body began to change in more ways than she could count, the inexplicable things just… stopped happening. She didn't see anybody or anything that wasn't there. Not even in her dreams.

Eventually, she attributed it to God answering her silent prayers and began praying harder than ever, thanking Him relentlessly. A few years went by and nothing changed. Those old journals got pushed to the back of her closet, stuffed inside boxes full of other abandoned books and childhood drawings, and she started brand new journals that had nothing in them about ghosts or spirits or souls or any of those other childish nonsense fantasies. In her head, the memories got pushed back and stuffed inside a box just the same. Forgotten, for the most part.

Then, when Beth was seventeen, her mama got very sick and didn't get better. It turned out she had cancer, but no matter how many treatments they tried, she kept getting worse and worse. Annette fought for several long months before she passed away. Afterwards, Beth knew for certain that all those weird incidents had been a product of her wild imagination as a child.

Because she didn't see her mama at all after she died. Not even when she took her last breaths and her soul undoubtedly fled from Earth once and for all.

Beth stopped thanking God after that. It wasn't that she _wanted_ to be crazy, to see things that other people couldn't see. But if she could've chosen it, if she could've gotten just _one_ last moment with her mother to tell her how much she loved her and to say goodbye… Well, it just didn't seem fair. Why would God take it away from her before it really mattered? Maybe it had been a blessing in disguise and she'd been too ignorant to understand. Maybe He took it away to punish her for being ungrateful.

Everything got very hectic after that. Beth graduated high school - just barely - and her older sister, Maggie, had no choice but to get a job in the city that paid just enough to keep the bill collectors off their backs. Hershel had already been retired for a few years and his age was showing more and more everyday but he never stopped working, doing everything he could to keep the farm afloat after Annette's medical bills and funeral costs all but drained his savings. Beth wanted to get a job in the city as well but Maggie insisted that the youngest Greene needed to stay on the farm with their daddy and their brother, Shawn.

So that's what she did. Beth mostly ran the house, cleaning and cooking, essentially taking over all her mama's previous duties. It wasn't much different from what she'd been doing while Annette was sick and dying, but it had become more permanent. At least it felt that way to Beth. She'd thought of going to college and moving away, but at the end of the day, her obligations kept her on the farm. She couldn't abandon her family like that. She could see how much Maggie hated being away for five days a week and Beth didn't want to end up making a decision that she would later regret. What if she moved away and something happened to her dad? Or Shawn? She'd never be able to forgive herself.

Besides, the busier she kept herself, the less time she had to think about… other things. Which worked out pretty well for the first couple of years. Time passed by in a blur. The whole family fell into a routine, days blending into weeks blending into months. Beth was always eagerly awaiting the arrival of the weekend, during which Maggie would be home for two blissful days. She found that the more she wished it was the weekend, the more days she wound up missing out on entirely.

It was like she'd blinked and then a year passed. She blinked again and there went another year. Her twenty-first birthday came and went and she didn't even feel any different. Not in the slightest. The same went for her twenty-second and twenty-third.

She continued her routine, as did everyone else. They were always barely scraping by, stretching to make ends meet. Maggie got promoted and that helped, though it kept her in the city more often than not. They finally paid off all the medical bills and got all but a couple of the debt collectors off their backs. Sometimes, Beth was able to earn a little extra money by babysitting for one of her dad's friends and once in a while, it gave her an excuse to get out of the house for a day or two.

But Hershel was growing weaker everyday and his doctor was insisting that he stop pushing himself so much because his aging body could no longer handle the constant strain. Shawn responded by taking the brunt of the work onto his shoulders and hiring more help. Yet Beth's routine remained unaffected.

She kept telling herself that things would change eventually. And she was right - they _did_ change. Though not at all in the way she was hoping.

* * *

Autumn was arriving quickly, bringing with it a relieving break from the humid Georgia heat. The anniversary of Annette's death was arriving quickly, too. Beth didn't feel quite as sad this year as she normally did and she wasn't sure why that was.

Nonetheless, considering it was a relatively slow Monday morning, she headed out into the woods after breakfast in search of some peace and quiet and maybe some nice wildflowers for her mama's grave. There was a picturesque creek that she'd found when she was little and had always loved, and nowadays she liked to use it as her little escape from the monotony of daily life. It was a place where she could sit and think and just be without fear of anyone disturbing her. Sometimes she brought her journal. Today, she brought nothing more than an old wicker basket to hold any flowers she might gather.

Despite the lower temperatures, the sun was still beating down hot from above and the air was thick with humidity. Beth strolled through the quiet woods with the basket hanging from her arm, heading toward the creek as sweat formed on her face and beneath her clothes. She was eager to reach the water and cool down, to sit and relax before trekking out a little farther in search of those wildflower patches she'd stumbled across a few months back.

The trees rustled in the light breeze and birds sang from every which direction. There were tiny chirps and squeaks from the unseen wildlife skittering through the undergrowth, the unmistakable chatter of squirrels and the clicking of their little claws as they darted up and down tree trunks. Beth approached the creek and took in a deep breath of the comforting scent. She set her basket on the ground and lowered herself until she was resting on her knees at the water's edge.

She didn't hear the distant voice at first. She splashed cool water on her face, rinsing away the sweat that had begun to drip down her neck. But when she paused and let the water go still, she heard it. Distant and unfamiliar, yet she knew without a doubt that it was a man's voice. For a moment, she thought her dad or Shawn may have wandered out to find her but as the voice came and went, it gradually got louder. Several seconds later, she was certain that it was no voice she'd ever heard before.

She bristled and turned her head, standing up and looking around, searching for signs of the mysterious man. But suddenly, she couldn't hear him anymore. And there was no one else around that she could see.

Beth decided that she'd been overhearing someone yelling from the farm - that was the only reasonable explanation. Either that or she was imagining things. So she ignored it and forgot about it and resumed her rest by the creek, leisurely scooping cool water up and over her sun-tanned arms.

"Take yer top off, sweetcheeks!"

Beth jolted when the loud voice surrounded her and filled her ears. It was immediately followed by crude laughter and she spun around, leaping up to her feet.

A man was standing nearby, leaning against a tree and watching her. As soon as she locked eyes with him, his laughter stopped and his face fell. He stood up straight and stared at her, bewildered.

"Who the hell are you? This is my family's property, you're _trespassing_, ya know," she threatened. She was suddenly wishing she hadn't stopped bringing a hunting knife with her on these little treks into the woods. But years and years of never encountering a dangerous animal, let alone a stranger, had lowered her guard. She hadn't even brought her damn phone.

The man looked older, in his late 30s or 40s with short, receding gray hair and heavy bags under bright blue eyes. He was broad-shouldered and a few inches short of six feet, dressed in ripped and faded blue jeans, dark boots, and a wrinkly maroon V-neck underneath an aged leather vest. And he appeared to be nearly as startled as Beth felt. Which didn't make sense.

"What - you can _hear_ me?" He asked.

She couldn't tell if he was being serious or not. "Are you insane, mister? You're yelling at me out in the middle of the woods, yer _all_ I can hear! What d'you want?"

The man's bewilderment didn't fade. He took a step forward and Beth stiffened but she couldn't step back without ending up knee-deep in water. She froze and watched him intently, prepared to turn and run if he tried to get any closer.

"No, no no - you gotta be _shittin'_ me," he grumbled, glancing upward as though he were talking to someone else. "This li'l bitch? She ain't got no goddamn idea who I even _am_!"

"Who are you talking to? D'you need _help_ or somethin'?" Beth asked loudly.

The man narrowed his eyes at her and shook his head. "So you can _see_ me? I'm - what do I look like ta you, girl?"

She was more confused than fearful at this point, almost certain that this strange man had escaped some sort of hospital. "I dunno - like an old creep who preys on young girls in the woods. Are you some kinda pervert or somethin'? My dad's gonna be here any minute and I - "

He lifted a hand as if to wave away her words and interrupted, "Shut up, shut up! I ain't no fuckin' pervert. I'm _dead_. How the fuck can you _see_ me, blondie? Can ya tell me that?"

It took a moment for his statement to register in her head. But when it did, Beth reeled. She blinked and looked away, a slew of locked-up memories resurfacing and filling her with a mixture of confusion and horror.

_There's no way_, she thought. _There can't be._

"This is a joke, right?" She asked, her voice quiet and doubtful.

The man frowned and creased his brow. "Do I look like I'm fuckin' laughin'?"

Beth swallowed hard and felt the blood draining from her face.

Recognition sparked in his eyes. He tilted his chin upwards and glared at her suspiciously. "This ain't the first time you seen a ghost, is it, sweetheart?"

She shook her head wordlessly, mouth gone dry.

He grunted out a cold half-chuckle and said, "Ain't the first time you _talked_ ta one neither, I'm guessin'."

She shook her head again and blinked, dumbfounded and speechless.

"Well, nobody else can see me so I reckon that means you got no choice in the matter. Yer gonna _have_ ta help me, li'l girl."

Beth finally found her voice, though it came out choked and hoarse. "Help you - ? Who _are_ you?"

He smirked, crossing his arms over his chest and declaring proudly, "Merle Dixon, the one an' only."

She didn't give him a chance to say anything else. She quickly reached down and snatched up her basket and darted off in the opposite direction of the strange man. He was caught off-guard and didn't follow at first, though she didn't risk looking back.

She weaved between trees and walked as fast as she could, heart racing and hands shaking.

_Not real, not real, not real_, she silently told herself. _He'll fade away. It's just my imagination._

She was about to break out into a run when his voice reached her ears once more.

"Hey - hey! Don't walk away from me! You have ta _help_ me!"

Beth ignored him and picked up her pace, half-jogging through the undergrowth and dead leaves.

"It's not real, he's not real, it's my imagination," she mumbled to herself feverishly.

She couldn't hear him chasing her but his voice kept getting closer, kept following her. By the time she gave in and began to run, he sounded frantic.

"Dammit - stop running! I ain't gonna _hurt_ you! I need yer help, you stubborn little twerp!"

She chanced a brief glimpse over her shoulder to see how far away he was and that was all it took for her to lose her footing and stumble across a dead log in her path. She fell forward and threw her hands out just in time to catch herself, scraping her palms against the hard earth as her knees hit the ground painfully. The basket crumpled and the handle snapped beneath her.

The fear and adrenaline made the pain easy to forget and she immediately got back to her feet and spun around, prepared to defend herself however she could. She obviously couldn't outrun him, but maybe she could start screaming and someone on the farm would hear her.

He was there, standing next to the log that had tripped her and looking more frustrated than ever. He gestured angrily towards her knees. "Now see what ya did? Yer gonna twist yer damn ankle out here, girl. Why the hell you runnin' from me? Don't you wanna help a soul in need?"

He pointed to her chest and she glanced down to see the shiny gold cross hanging from a thin chain around her neck.

"You're a liar," she said, still trying to catch her breath. "You're messin' with me and it's _not_ funny! I don't know you and I don't want any trouble. Just leave me be, I won't - "

"You don't _believe_ me? Let's go find that daddy a yers, see what he thinks. How 'bout that?"

Beth quickly shook her head, speaking with as much confidence as she could muster. "He'll call the cops, he'll have you arrested for trespassing and harassing me. Just go, this isn't _funny_!"

Merle scoffed and rolled his eyes. "I agree, princess. Ain't shit funny about any part of this. Don't make no sense, you can see me but nobody else can. Damn cruel joke if ya ask me - but it sure as shit ain't _my_ joke."

She thought she might be sick. She shook her head again, refusing to believe it even as her blood went cold and her knees trembled beneath her. "No - no. _No_. I'm not… it's not _possible_. I saw a couple weird things as a kid but it was just my imagination. This has to be…"

Her voice drifted off and her mind raced. He waited, watching her expectantly.

After a long moment of silence, he held his open palms out before him and said, "Well - you take any drugs lately?"

Beth was so appalled that she snapped back without thinking, "No, of course not."

"Alrigh' then," he went on. "Any history of mental illness? 'Sides that 'overactive imagination' you used ta have."

She shook her head, glaring back at him with distrust. "No - no way."

"Then I guess the only explanation is that yer goin' crazy, sweetcheeks. You think that's it? Maybe you got some kinda recessive trait an' I'm the product of yer fucked-up brain? You think maybe everything got to be too much and ya finally just… _snapped_?"

He laughed coldly and a shiver ran down her spine. She remembered the burning house and the old couple, the frantic lady outside of school, the countless faces of strangers who'd lingered just a little too long in her periphery.

No, she wasn't going crazy. No one in her family had ever been crazy, no one that was related to her had ever heard voices before or seen people that weren't there.

Had they?

"Leave me alone," she said flatly. Then she spun on her heel and walked away, keeping her eyes down and focused on avoiding obstacles in her path.

"Hey now, don't be like that - I was just kiddin'! I know you ain't goin' crazy. I'm _dead_! I know lotsa shit now!" Merle called after her. Once again, she couldn't hear his footsteps on the ground but his voice followed her and she knew he was following her, too. "Look, I know I'm an asshole an' yeah, I was a real piece a shit my whole life. But I wouldn't just ask some random teenager for help if I didn't really fuckin' need help."

"I'm not a teenager or a _little girl_, I'm a grown woman," Beth angrily snapped without looking back. "Leave me _alone_."

She heard him scoff and then he said, "Ya look about sixteen but whatever you say - either way, I don't know you an' I don't know shit about you. I wanted my brother ta help me but he can't fuckin' _hear_ me! I can't get through to 'im no matter what I try. Not even my tweaker buddies can see me an' they're so goddamn high all the time, they can hear shapes! You gotta help me, blondie, I'm beggin' you. And I ain't never begged _nobody_ before!"

The frustration grew more palpable in his voice but Beth tuned him out. She could see the treeline up ahead and the farm was just beyond it. She picked up her pace and refused to glance back let alone speak another word aloud. She told herself that if she pretended he wasn't there, he'd have no choice but to disappear eventually. And if he _was_ there, then someone else would see him and he would no longer be her problem. It was a win-win situation, she just had to make it out of the woods first.

"I'm not goin' anywhere till you _help_ me!" Merle demanded. "I'll just keep buggin' you. Watch! I don't need ta eat or sleep no more, I got all the time in the world. I'll drive ya crazy if ya ain't there already. Mark my words, little lady."

Beth tried to ignore his threats and kept walking, emerging from the woods and fast-walking through the tall grass toward the nearest barn. She could see people working in the distance and one of them was Shawn.

Merle kept calling after her. "This where you live? Nice place - where's that daddy a yers? Let's see what he thinks 'bout your predicament… He a man of God? Y'all go to church every Sunday? ...damn, woman, you wanna walk a little slower?"

She kept her eyes locked on her brother and made a beeline toward him, Merle's voice grating on her nerves. As she approached, she saw that Shawn was completely focused on the tractor he was repairing and no one had offered so much as a glance in her direction yet. Her heart sped up as she waited for someone else to see Merle.

But no one said anything. She stopped a few feet away from Shawn and spoke up.

"Hey."

He lifted his head and turned around, nodding his head in greeting with his hands still buried in tractor parts. "What's up?"

She blinked and glanced over her shoulder for the first time since she'd left the woods. Sure enough, Merle was still there, standing with his arms crossed over his chest and glaring at the back of her head. She looked at her older brother and waited for him to react, silently praying that he could see the strange man that was so obviously standing behind her.

But he didn't. Shawn stared at her expectantly.

"Um," she started. "I just - "

"Does Dad need somethin'? I'm kinda busy right now," Shawn asked impatiently.

Beth shook her head and cleared her throat, trying to ignore the sensation of her stomach plummeting down to her feet. "No - nevermind. I uh, I forgot. Sorry."

Before he could comment on her odd behavior, she turned and walked away. Her stomach was turning and she thought she might actually be sick this time.

"See what I mean, sweetheart?" Merle piped up. "Yer the only one. Yer _stuck_ with me."

She knew he was right. Every single person she passed was completely oblivious of Merle's presence. Some of them offered her a brief wave or a warm smile of acknowledgment, but no one stopped and asked who the hell the older guy following her around was and why he was here.

They couldn't see him. Couldn't even hear him.

He called out crude remarks about the farmhands as they passed and Beth did her best to tune him out but it was becoming more and more difficult. Her blood was boiling and she strode angrily through the farm. He was having too much fun with the whole situation. Half the things he spouted would've gotten him shot and unfortunately, she was the only one who could hear him. And even more unfortunately, she knew she couldn't shoot him.

There was one last hope for her, though. She was heading straight for the house, where she knew her father would be watching TV in the den or reading in the kitchen. And she knew it was a long shot but she had to at least try. Maybe it wasn't just her after all. Maybe she'd get incredibly lucky and find out that her father could see and hear this insistent, annoying man as well.

She entered the house to find it quiet and empty. Merle let out a long and low whistle as they stepped through the entryway and into the kitchen.

"Oh, y'all go to church alright," he remarked. "Buncha Jesus freaks, from the looks of it."

She bit her tongue and searched around for her father but the kitchen was empty. She checked the dining room before heading into the den. That's where she found Hershel sitting on the couch, an old Bible open in his lap and reading glasses resting low on his nose. He looked up when she entered and smiled warmly.

Beth knew immediately that he couldn't see Merle. Her heart dropped and her face inadvertently fell. Hershel's smile disappeared and he gave her a look of concern.

"What's wrong, Doodlebug?" He asked.

She swallowed past a thick knot in her throat and fought back tears. Merle's antagonizing voice filled her ears once more.

"_Doodlebug_? That's cute. Not somethin' I'd expect a _grown woman_ ta be called, though."

Beth shook her head and forced a smile for her father. "No, Daddy - I was just checkin' on you. What d'you wanna do fer lunch?"

She couldn't hear his response over Merle's loud and taunting laughter.

**to be continued...**


	2. The 3 Stages of Tolerating Merle Dixon

**The 3 Stages of Tolerating Merle Dixon**

Beth's first attempt at getting Merle to go away consisted of flat-out ignoring him. Logically, she thought, he would get so sick of being ignored that he would eventually have no choice but to give up and move on. She could already tell he was the kind of man who was easy to infuriate simply by not giving him the time of day or pretending that his words held no weight. And she was correct in that assumption.

Unfortunately, she miscalculated just how fucking stubborn he could be.

She ignored him completely, pretended he wasn't there, tuned out his obnoxious statements and irritating voice. She refused to so much as glance in his direction no matter where he was. At one point, he got so angry that he shoved himself into her personal space and yelled in her face. But she kept ignoring him, staring down at the dishes she was washing and biting her tongue so hard that she could taste blood in her mouth. It wasn't that she _cared_ about anything he said, it just became a bit emotionally exhausting to be taunted and harassed by an angry dead man for hours on end. Nevertheless, she stood her ground and kept ignoring him.

He refused to back down. He even followed her into the bathroom and for a second, she thought he actually _was_ a pervert because he was willing to stand there and watch her use the toilet. (She couldn't say she cared because, well… he was dead, so what did it matter to her.) But then she pulled her pants down and continued to pretend he wasn't there and he got all flustered and even angrier than before and stormed out of the room until she was done. That made her feel a little more hopeful, though he quickly dashed it by resuming his taunting and amping up his fury to make sure she knew just how much she was pissing him off. She might've laughed at him but his voice had given her a headache and it was only getting worse as the day wore on.

She couldn't have a conversation with Shawn or her dad or anybody at all because Merle kept interrupting and yelling so loudly in her ear that she couldn't hear what anyone else was saying. She couldn't sit down and watch TV because Merle wouldn't give her more than ten seconds of peace. She couldn't even read a book because Merle would start in on one of his graphically descriptive stories and keep rattling on until she found herself rereading the same paragraph fifteen times while desperately trying to tune him out.

Eventually, she called it an early night and told Hershel she had a migraine as an excuse to go to bed. Sure enough, Merle followed her there, too. He made some more threats to the wall while she changed into pajamas and then made himself comfortable at the edge of her bed once she lay down, his mouth only stopping long enough to wet his lips or take a deep breath in between furious ramblings. She folded her pillow over her head and squeezed her eyes shut. Her brain felt like it was trying to burst out of her skull.

Overall, ignoring him meant pretending he wasn't there and Beth figured if she succeeded, he might assume she could no longer see him. Although she knew that wasn't actually possible because he'd noticed how annoyed she was, he'd noticed her headache and her silence, and now he definitely noticed when she was trying to block him out with her pillow. So, in a last ditch effort to retain her sanity, she grabbed her phone and her earbuds from the bedside table and filled her ears with music. She cranked up the volume until her skull was throbbing from the vibrations but finally, _finally_ she was free of Merle's voice.

It was sweet relief for a fleeting three minutes and forty-seven seconds. Then the song faded out and she heard him chuckling and muttering about, "...think you can keep those things in yer ears ferever, _hah_, gotta charge that thing sometime. I always used to…" But the next song started and drowned out his voice once again and she relaxed. For another four minutes and sixteen seconds, anyway.

He was talking nonstop, muttering spitefully about how 'fucking selfish' she was being and how she was seriously wounding his pride by refusing to help him or even acknowledge him. A song would play and she would be free of him, then it would end and she'd have to suffer through a couple more torturous seconds of his voice. Another song would come on. Then it would end and she'd hear him. And the cycle continued. Song after song after song.

Eventually, her eyelids were growing heavy and she was becoming desperate for sleep. But she didn't dare pause the music or take the earbuds out. She was beginning to wonder if he could talk her to sleep. Maybe if she listened to his voice and pretended the nails-on-a-chalkboard sound was actually rain falling on the rooftop…?

A song ended and the next song's opening was particularly quiet. Her phone was already turned up as loud as it could go. Merle was still muttering but his voice was gradually elevating and Beth could actually hear him making himself angry. She caught snippets in between the next two songs.

"...my baby brother. That _asshole_ \- fuckin' dick wouldn't listen to me even if he _could_ hear me…"

"...ain't _ever_ gonna know. Not that he'd fuckin' care, sure as shit wasn't too upset when I _died_. But now I can't…"

"...look at me now, _beggin'_ some stuck-up little bitch ta help me. I ain't ever needed _nobody_, an' now when I do, I get somebody who don't give a goddamn 'bout the people _I_ left behind…"

Right before he jumped up from the bed and lashed out, his anger was so audible in his tone that Beth had tensed up and could no longer focus on the music.

"...ain't fuckin' _fair_, 'sall bullshit, ungrateful li'l prick…"

She might've continued ignoring him - he'd thrown plenty of tantrums throughout the day and she wasn't _afraid_ of him by any means. But this was different and she could _feel_ it. The anger was radiating off of him in waves, so palpable that it made her heart speed up and her muscles tense, as though she were preparing for a collision. Or an explosion.

And explode he did.

In the darkness of Beth's bedroom, Merle leapt up to his feet and let out an ear-shattering scream of rage. His face was all red and his eyes were teary, veins popping up on his neck and forehead. Beth was so startled that she yanked her earbuds out and sat up just as he stomped soundlessly across the floor and punched the mirror above her dresser with all his strength. The last discernible words he cried out before the glass shattered loudly was, "_GODDAMIT_, _DARYL_!"

The sound of Merle's anger seemed to shake the entire house.

Shards of glass fell across the top of the dresser and down to the floor. The sound echoed throughout the room. Beth's breath hitched in her throat and she froze, staring wide-eyed at the scene of destruction. Merle stood in shock with his hand still held out before him, balled into a tight fist, staring down at it like he'd never seen it before. He was unaffected by the sharp glass.

The anger on his face gradually disappeared, changing to surprise and then quickly morphing into a look of smug satisfaction. His back straightened and he put his hands on his hips and turned around to face her. He puffed his chest out proudly. She had no choice but to meet his gaze.

He smiled, blue eyes sparkling mischievously. "Well - looks like ol' Merle ain't so easy to ignore after all. How you like _them_ apples, blondie?"

* * *

Beth's second attempt at getting Merle to go away consisted of giving him a taste of his own medicine. Which meant insulting him, refusing to help him, threatening him, and using so much foul language that her mother would probably roll over in her grave at the sound of it. But she was fed up, and attempting to ignore him was no longer a viable option.

Merle had kept her awake for the entire night. Even worse than that, his little tantrum had sent Shawn and Hershel busting into her bedroom with shotguns in hand, prepared to fight off an intruder that didn't exist. And then she'd had to make up a lie on the spot to explain the broken mirror, and she _hated_ lying to her dad. When she finally managed to drift off to sleep, Merle found a way to wake her up - usually by screaming in her ear. And anytime she would miraculously drift off, he would violently rouse her. Beth wound up getting no more than two hours of sleep, broken up into extremely short five and ten-minute intervals. Merle had found this form of literal torture to be the most hilarious thing he'd ever done, though.

She'd been biting her tongue for too long and had held a _lot_ back. She hadn't even spoken a word to him when he broke the mirror, terrified that someone would overhear her talking to a man that wasn't there. She let it all build up until sunrise and, before anyone else in the house had roused from sleep, she dressed and slipped out of the house and headed straight for the woods with Merle trailing after her like a feral dog. It was the only place she could go without worrying that someone would hear her yelling.

As soon as she was well away from the farm and walking through undergrowth and clumps of trees, she glanced over her shoulder at him and grumbled angrily, "Don't make me call a priest or-or an _exorcist_ or somethin'. I'll get sage or whatever, holy water - I'll cleanse the whole frickin' property if I have to."

He was all too pleased to hear her talking to him again and let out an obnoxiously loud laugh in response. "Yer funny, _Doodlebug_," he spoke with a condescending tone. "None a that shit actually works - you _know_ that, right? Those're empty threats to a dead guy."

"How would _you_ know?" She hissed through clenched teeth, forcing herself to stare ahead while her blood boiled. If having to listen to him hadn't been agonizing enough, having to give in and converse with him again was even worse.

He chuckled. "_Because_ I'm dead! You learn a lot once ya leave the mortal plane, but hey - I ain't claimin' ta be no expert. Just smart enough ta know that all the li'l bullshit they feed ya about ghosts an' spirits an' demons all bein' the same is about as far from the truth as you can get. Ain't no burnin' sage or _special_ _water_ that's gonna get rid a me, darlin'. Gonna take a _helluva_ lot more an' that."

Beth's fists clenched at her side and she kept walking.

Merle continued to ramble smugly, just like he'd done nonstop for the last eighteen hours. "Wanna talk about burnin' some plants, now that might not be a bad idea. I dunno if I can still get high, but I can't die from tryin' - _hah_! How 'bout it, princess? Wanna smoke a joint with a ghost? Shit, you probably ain't ever smoked nothin' in yer whole life. What a damn waste of a living body, if I didn't - "

"I don't do that shit because I'm not a _loser_," she snapped, glancing back at him to see his smile flicker momentarily. "Not that it matters to _you_, you don't need to know _anything_ about me. I'm getting rid of you, one way or another."

He laughed again. "Oh yeah? An' how're you gonna do _that_, exactly?"

She pursed her lips and strode forward, stepping up further ahead of him before he could react. Then she stopped and turned around to face him, a generous distance between them now and her fists still clenched at her side.

"Here. We're here," she gestured to the creek behind her and the large tree behind Merle.

He halted and glanced around, blinking and frowning in confusion. "Uh - okay?"

Beth's anger bubbled up higher within her chest and she sighed loudly. "This is where you first appeared. So just - _stay here_. Don't follow me this time. Go back through whatever _portal_ you spawned from."

He burst out laughing so hard that his beer gut shook. Once he paused and caught his breath, he asked, "You think that's how this works, sweetheart?!"

It had made sense in her head. But now she was feeling foolish. She dug her fingernails into her palms and her voice grew louder. "You don't know my name, you know absolutely _nothing_ about my life or-or my _soul_ or whatever. We don't have any kind of connections. There's no reason for you ta be literally _haunting_ me! Just _go_!"

Merle continued grinning as he shook his head and _tsk_ed. He spoke low and dangerous, "Oh, darlin'... you ain't even _seen_ haunted yet."

But she refused to let him intimidate her. He'd done nothing but patronize and taunt her since the moment they met. She couldn't even comprehend the audacity of his request for her help when he refused to do anything but degrade and pester her. But she wouldn't allow herself to feel any kind of actual fear for him. She secretly worried it might give him more power somehow. And though she wouldn't say it aloud, the broken mirror had been terrifyingly real. She had no desire to see what else he may become capable of if she allowed him to linger any longer. If she didn't try _something_ to get rid of him.

"You have ta leave eventually. If I ignore you," she persisted. "Or if I get help. I'll find _someone_ who can make you leave."

He scoffed and crossed his arms over his chest. "Good luck. Jus' trust me on this, blondie, there ain't no way out except ta get involved. Neither of us has a choice in the matter."

She shot him a murderous glare and pursed her lips.

He insisted, "C'mon now, don't ya wanna be a dutiful Christian an' help a good man move on?"

Now it was her turn to laugh. "_Good_ man? If you were anything close to _good_, you wouldn't be stuck here."

Anger flashed across his face. "Yeah well, nobody's perfect. 'M sure you got plenty a yer own sins, ya dumb broad."

She immediately registered his reaction and tried to use it to her advantage. She had to admit, she wasn't the best at insulting people but she had more than a few choice words saved back for this asshole. And he'd just revealed a vulnerable spot. So of course, she prodded it.

"We all have, but at least I ain't dead and beggin' some complete stranger for help because I have nobody else who would _ever_ wanna help me," Beth said, her voice coming out a lot sharper than she'd expected and full of all the rage she'd been holding back. "You say nobody else can hear you but I think yer full of _shit_. I think nobody else will _listen_ to you an' now you got no choice but ta ask somebody who has no idea what a complete _waste_ of oxygen you actually were. You're just some sad, pathetic, lost soul doomed for Hell or - or maybe yer just _meant_ to wander the earth fer all of eternity!" She was practically yelling but couldn't hold back. A sadistic smile formed on her face as she laughed coldly and went on, nearly breathless, "'Cause you probably lived such a _disgusting_, _bottom-dwelling _life that absolutely _no one_ gave a shit that you died! I'll bet you died alone - an' that's how you'll stay forever. I mean, it already sounds to me like that brother you won't stop talkin' about doesn't give a flying fuck about you, dead _or_ alive. He was probably _happy_ ta finally be _free_ of you!"

Merle wasn't even trying to conceal his fury at this point. His face got more and more red as Beth went on and by the time she stopped to catch her breath, the veins were popping up on his neck and forehead. His jaw was clenched so hard that he looked like he was ready to spit blood. His arms fell to his sides and went rigid, hands balled into fists.

It happened in a flash. One second he was standing a good distance away from her and then the next, he was directly in front of her, all red-faced and infuriated. He poked his finger into her forehead as he yelled in her face, but she couldn't feel it. All she could feel was the intense anger radiating off of him, making her blood go cold, and all she could hear was his loud voice in her ears.

"Listen here, you selfish little bitch, you don't know _shit_ about me! Just like you don't know _shit_ about bein' dead or what kinda unfinished fucking business I got! You best believe I got _your_ number, girl. You think I dunno 'bout you, think I don't know yer name or how much you love that goofy brother an' that geriatric pa of yers?! 'Cause I do, _Beth Greene_ \- oh, I fuckin' _know_. An' you better just get it through that pretty little head a yers right now: I _won't_ stop till I get what I need! You saw what kinda power I got, an' you know I could haunt the everlivin' _shit_ outta this house till yer precious daddy keels over from a goddamn _heart attack_! You wanna play games, _Doodlebug_? Ol' Merle's been playin' these games since before you fell outta yer mama's cunt - you hear me?! _Huh_?!"

Beth stood frozen, unable to process everything he was screaming at her all at once. She could do nothing but stare deftly, heart racing and spine gone stiff as a board. She was wishing more than anything that she could leap forward and strangle him to death. Or bash his head in with a rock. It really was a shame that someone else had beat her to the punch.

He turned his head and spit on the ground, though nothing appeared there. He took a step back and continue glaring at her, the blood slowly draining from his face.

"I don't give a shit if yer my only option or not, ain't _nobody_ gonna talk to _me_ like that. _Ever_," he growled. He spit again, flexing his fists at his sides, and went on menacingly, "Funniest part about it, sweetheart… if this is my punishment, then yer bein' punished right along with me. An' I'll make _sure_ of that."

He took another step back and shook his head. Beth still couldn't find the proper response. All she could do was stare at him, filled with a whole new fear that she definitely hadn't expected nor been prepared to deal with. She suddenly felt like a hostage in her own life.

Merle laughed humorlessly. "Don't make me haunt you, honey. It won't end well fer you."

"Fuck you," she snapped. It was the first thing that came pouring out of her mouth before she could stop it.

To her frustration, he gave her a wicked grin while lifting his eyebrows suggestively and quipping back, "Wish ya could but I don't think ghost sex works that way. 'M sure we could figure somethin' out, though."

He laughed loudly again but this time, it was with genuine amusement.

* * *

Beth's third attempt at getting Merle to go away consisted of getting a third party involved. Particularly someone that she would consider a 'trained professional.' Maybe several trained professionals. Which meant she would need to travel into the city.

Atlanta was only about an hour's drive from the farm but she had no idea how long it would take her to drive around the city itself or how long it may take if she actually ended up finding someone who could help. She also had to account for traffic. So, after spending several minutes on her phone looking up different addresses in Atlanta and creating a list for herself, as well as ignoring Merle's incessant questions about said list, she mustered up all of her courage and lied to her father.

"Daddy, Rick called an' asked if I could come watch Judith for the day. I guess somethin' came up with his regular babysitter. D'you mind if I take the truck?"

Hershel didn't even look up from the newspaper in his hands. "Of course, Bethy. I filled up the tank yesterday. Just be sure to keep your phone on you in case anything happens."

She gave him a peck on the cheek while Merle cackled in the doorway. "Okay, I won't be back too late but don't wait up for me. Love you."

A knot of guilt twisted in her stomach as she left the house and fast-walked to the big black Ford pickup that was parked out front. Merle was taunting her and amusing himself with crude jokes about fatherly affection, but she wasn't even listening because she was still trying to convince herself that her lies weren't actually hurting anyone. It might not have been such a big deal except that she really _really_ hated lying to her own family. But she also knew that she couldn't tell them any part of the truth because they would undoubtedly lock her up in the looney bin if they heard even half the story. And she couldn't admit to visiting Atlanta because Hershel would assume that she was going to stop by and see Maggie and the very _last_ thing Beth needed was to risk getting Maggie involved in any way. Her big sister was too good at seeing right through her, she'd never believe her lies. But she'd sure as hell never believe the truth either. Maggie didn't believe in shit like that. She would think Beth was on drugs.

Beth kind of wished she _was_ on drugs.

Merle appeared in the passenger's seat half a second after she climbed into the cab and shut the door, causing her to jolt in surprise. "Where the hell we goin', blondie? You sure you can drive this thing?"

She rolled her eyes at him, starting up the engine and giving it a moment to rumble to life before she shifted gears and began driving down the long driveway and away from the farmhouse. "I've been drivin' since I was twelve. Just sit back and try not to make me fly off the road before we get to Atlanta. And for the love of God, call me _Beth_."

"_Atlanta_?!" He scoffed. "The hell's in Atlanta? If we're drivin', might as well just go find my brother an' get started on sortin' this shit out. He don't even live that far away."

Beth kept her eyes forward and focused on the dirt road ahead, both hands gripping the steering wheel. "I already told you, I'm not gonna go talk ta some total stranger and try to convince him that his dead brother is _haunting_ me. I can't help you if I'm locked up in an asylum, you _do_ realize that, don't you?"

She could hear him sucking on his teeth for a long moment. Then he muttered, "Seems awfully unnecessary, 'sall. Yer gonna _have_ ta talk to Daryl sooner or later. Ain't no other way."

"Well there _has_ to be. Because I'm telling you right now, no matter what I tell this brother of yours, he's _not_ gonna believe me and he's _not_ gonna help us."

"How d'you know? You never even met 'im. If we can just convince him - which we _can_ \- I _know_ he'd wanna help."

"And how do _you_ know? Huh? What makes you think that he hasn't already moved on and started a brand new Merle-free life?" She glanced over to see him frowning and staring through the windshield.

"'Cause he's my brother. 'Cause I was all he ever had an' he was all I ever had. 'Cause he'd do goddamn _anything_ fer me!"

Beth pursed her lips and held back any further comments. She wasn't in the mood for another one of his outbursts, especially while she was driving. So she reached over and turned on the radio, cranking the volume up until the local country station was filling the inside of the spacious cab. She could barely hear Merle muttering from his seat, though whether he was muttering to her or to himself, she didn't know and didn't care.

There was a blissful ten minutes of peace before he spoke again, loud enough to be heard over the Luke Bryan song that was playing. "Jesus Christ, can you put on some _real_ country? This shit's gonna make my ears bleed an' I don't even _have_ blood anymore!"

Beth rolled her eyes and reached over to wordlessly change the station. She left it on one of her dad's preset stations, the cab filling with an old Hank Williams song. Thankfully it shut Merle up and a few seconds later, he was tapping his foot to the music and quietly singing along.

As soon as the song ended and a commercial break came on, he turned to her and said, "Roll my window down."

She shot him a loathing side-eye and kept her hands on the steering wheel. "Why?"

He looked at her indignantly. "'Cause it's fuckin' nice out? Shit, just 'cause I'm dead don't mean I can't appreciate a brisk autumn day."

She hesitated, then said, "You could ask me _nicely_."

He groaned and rolled his eyes at her. "Jus' roll it down. It's one goddamn button."

She smirked and stared ahead, pretending to ignore him.

He huffed and once he realized she wasn't bending, he muttered resentfully, "Fine! Would you _please_ roll my window down?"

She made him wait for a couple more seconds just to annoy him before reaching over and pressing the button to open the passenger side window. But she still didn't look over at him.

"Now how hard was that? Fuckin' brat," he remarked.

Beth quickly reached over and rolled the window back up.

"No - I was kiddin'! Keep it down! Damn, can't you take a joke, woman?"

She rolled it back down but kept smirking. She was thankful there were still _some_ things she had power over.

Crisp autumn air poured in through the passenger side window, loud and nonstop as they flew down the highway toward Atlanta. It was barely ten in the morning but there were plenty of other cars on the road heading in both directions. Beth revelled in the sound of music and wind and speeding vehicles, grateful for the break from Merle's aggravating voice. Then he pulled something from the inside pocket of his vest and she glanced over.

"How d'you even _have_ those?" She asked, baffled.

He shook a single cigarette into his palm from the pack he was holding and placed it between his lips. She kept looking over at him, waiting for an answer as he slid the pack back into his pocket and pulled out a lighter. He lit the end of his smoke and grinned as thin clouds of nicotine and tar puffed out around his mouth.

"What is it you kids say these days?" He replied in his abnormally scratchy voice, ashing the cigarette before taking a long drag and holding it in. "I'm _hashtag blessed_." He exhaled with a cackle and resumed tapping his foot to the radio.

The stench of cigarette smoke invaded her nostrils even though she had no idea how it was even possible that he was smoking, and she wasn't sure if only _she_ could smell it or if his weird ghost cigarettes would leave an actual odor behind inside the truck. But she rolled her window down nonetheless and attempted to rid herself of the sickening smell.

"_Ugh_," Beth groaned, rolling her eyes for very possibly the millionth time in the last two hours. "You really are the _worst_."

Merle chuckled and continued smoking his cigarette out the open window. "'S like my pa always said: might as well be the worst if ya can't be the best." He finished with an amused laugh and another deep inhale of smoke.

He got distracted by old country songs and chain-smoking for the rest of the drive to Atlanta and she counted her blessings. Once they entered the city, she used the GPS on her phone to navigate her way toward the first address on her list.

It was a Baptist church nestled within an upper middle-class neighborhood. Beth's heart sped up as soon as she spotted the large cross on the roof from down the street and it only raced faster once she was slowing down and parking in the small lot beside the white building. Merle leaned forward and gazed through the windshield curiously, a wicked grin forming on his face.

"_Oh-ho-ho_, so yer takin' the old fashioned route, huh? Gonna try ta _pray_ _the Merle away_?" He laughed loudly at his own stupid joke.

She angrily shifted the truck into Park and turned her head to glare at him.

"No, I'm just gonna get some second opinions. This is the first stop of many. We're gonna get an _answer_ today, so help me God." And she meant it. Because she was almost certain that no one but God Himself could help her at this point.

Merle barked out another laugh and shook his head, tossing his burnt-down cigarette butt out the window. "Whatever you say, princess. Let's see what the _experts_ have ta say about our predicament."

Beth paused with her hand on the doorhandle. She turned and faced Merle, looking at him sternly. "Let's lay down some ground rules first."

He frowned and leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest like a petulant child. "Rules? I never done so good with _rules_."

She held back a sigh of exasperation and continued, "Look, I'm trying ta help us _both_. If we can find someone else who can see you or somebody who has some kind of experience with - I dunno, _guiding_ _souls_, I guess? - then maybe we can find an easier way to approach your brother. Maybe there's a detour to helping you crossover."

"A _detour_?"

"Yeah - don't you think it's worth a shot? We might as well. I already drove all the way here. No point in not gettin' an _expert's_ opinion." She repeated his own words in an effort to persuade him. She just needed him to behave and not drive her insane for a few hours, that's all she was asking.

He pondered her statement for a long moment, sucking on his teeth thoughtfully and eyeballing her like he was trying to figure her out. Finally, he shrugged.

"Whatever. Ain't like it's _my_ life we're wastin'," he grumbled resentfully.

She suppressed a grin and spoke to him as firmly as she could manage, "Just let me talk and don't distract me or throw a fit. That's the only rules. Oh - and if they can see you, don't _mess_ with them. Talk, be a normal person for _once_ in your afterlife. Just… try to work with me here. Deal?"

He eyeballed her suspiciously.

"The more willing you are ta give my ideas a chance, the more willing I'll be to meet with your brother. If this whole thing really necessitates his involvement then - well, we're gonna end up there one way or another, right? So why not let a trained professional lead us in that direction and help us along the way? Your brother would probably be a lot more willing to listen to two seemingly sane people than just some strange farm girl." She knew how to be persuasive when she needed to be.

He groaned and uncrossed his arms, looking away from her. "You wanna go cry out to an echo chamber, I'm not gonna stop ya. But don't get pissy with _me_ when your bullshit magic men can't find none a those detours."

He paused and laughed to himself before turning and giving her a cocky smirk. "Shit - who am I ta turn down a good show? You might even end up cryin' 'fore the day's over."

He laughed coldly. Beth brushed off his statement and considered it a win regardless.

She would tolerate him for now, sure. But she wouldn't accept him. Not until she was absolutely certain that she had no other choice.

**to be continued...**


	3. A Blonde and a Dead Guy Walk Into a Chur

**A Blonde and a Dead Guy Walk Into a Church...**

A moment later, Beth and Merle were approaching the front steps of the bright white church with the huge cross jutting up from the roof. He made crude comments and cackled to himself from the moment they climbed out of the truck until they stepped through the front doors of the church.

There was a woman at the opposite end of the large room and a few random people seated in the pews, praying silently. Beth strode down the long aisle and toward the woman at the other end. As she got closer, she saw that the woman was older and dressed conservatively, busying herself with organizing stacks of hymn booklets. She lifted her head and smiled when Beth approached.

"How can I help you?"

Beth frowned and glanced over her shoulder at Merle, who was leaning against a row of pews and watching patiently with a smug smirk on his face. She turned back to the woman and asked to speak to whoever was in charge - minister or pastor or whatever he wanted to be called. Admittedly, she didn't know much about any religions outside of her small church in Senoia. But that wasn't going to stop her today.

The woman chuckled softly and said, "I'll get the pastor." Then she turned and walked off to fetch someone from a back room.

Merle clicked his tongue loudly and grumbled, "Ain't this one a them black churches? Dunno whatcha think you'll get outta _these_ folks - "

Beth hissed through clenched teeth without turning her head, "Don't even _start_."

He let out an indignant _humph _and mumbled to himself just quietly enough that she couldn't quite tell what he was saying. But she caught a couple of key words and it was enough to make her blood boil.

"It's bad enough you're an insufferable horse's ass, you don't need ta be _racist_, too," she muttered, keeping her voice low so none of the scattered people within the church could hear her. "You just get worse an' worse the longer I know you." Her jaw clenched and she refused to glance over in his direction.

At that, he chuckled. "Oh yeah? Well you ain't seen nothin' yet, sweetcheeks."

She rolled her eyes.

Finally, a black man emerged from the back room and approached Beth in front of the pews. He was younger than she'd been expecting, maybe mid-30s with a clean-shaven bald head and a beaming white smile. He had soft brown eyes and stood only a few inches taller than her with broad shoulders and a husky build. He was dressed in a crisp maroon suit and polished dress shoes and when he spoke, his voice was both confident and gentle.

"What can I do for you today, young lady?" The man greeted. He reached out his hand between them in greeting along with a formal introduction, "I'm Pastor Theodore. You can call me Tee, if you'd like."

But he didn't glance in Merle's direction, not even when Merle let out a cold laugh and said, "Well he sure can't see me. Jus' like I told ya, blondie." She felt a pang of disappointment at the realization but didn't let it discourage her.

Beth smiled and shook Theodore's hand briefly. "Nice to meet you, Tee. I'm Beth. Um… well, this might sound odd, but I was wonderin' if we could talk - uh, about something that's... bothering me."

Merle scoffed from behind her. "You think _yer_ bothered? Try bein' _dead_." She ignored him and kept her eyes locked onto Pastor Theodore's.

The pastor clasped his hands together in front of him and smiled wider, though he was looking her up and down somewhat suspiciously. "Of course. That's what I'm here for. Although… I can't say I've ever seen you in church before. Are you with our congregation?"

Beth tensed and shook her head, feeling horribly awkward. "Well, no. I'm sorry - I'm not from around here. But I'm looking for advice - some kinda guidance, I guess. And I can't really find any answers in my own church."

His eyebrows lifted and he nodded in understanding. "Oh - I see. You're looking for an _outsider's_ perspective."

She shrugged. "Somethin' like that. Maybe a second opinion. Or just any opinion that might actually help."

He chuckled softly. "Don't worry, I get it. I can't promise I'll be much help, but I've never doubted that God can speak through me to those who need it. Even in the most trying times." He then turned to the side and gestured toward the door of his office. "How about we speak privately?"

Merle chortled. "Oh yeah, God speaks through 'im alright. Right through 'im an' out the backside. I wouldn't wanna meet this guy in a dark alley. Let alone a _'private'_ room."

Beth had to resist from rolling her eyes again or scowling in Merle's direction. Instead, she smiled and nodded and followed Pastor Theodore to his office. She knew Merle was following because he consistently objected and commented on the decor from behind her. And as soon as they entered the pastor's small office, he started in on another spiel about Baptists and churches and black people. Though at this point, he'd become no more than background noise in her ears.

She sat in one of the two chairs in front of the pastor's desk while Merle settled with leaning against the door behind her. Pastor Theodore took the seat behind his desk and folded his hands atop the smooth wooden surface before gazing over at Beth expectantly.

"So what is it that's troubling you, Beth?" He asked.

She swallowed hard and tried to rearrange all the words in her head. Merle made quiet and crude comments from the doorway but she tuned him out, determined to resolve this situation despite his relentless taunting. She struggled not to let the reactions show on her face while Tee was staring so intently and expectantly at her.

"Well… at the risk of sounding a little _crazy_," she hesitated, gauging the pastor's reaction as she spoke. "Do you think it's possible… that souls don't always leave the earth right away? Like maybe they - I'ono, it'll sound stupid and like I've watched too many movies, but what if some of them get…"

Tee was furrowing his brow but nodding along nonetheless. When her voice drifted off and she couldn't decide on the proper wording to finish her question, he suggested, "Stuck?"

She nodded. "Yeah. What if they get stuck, or-or left behind? I mean, d'you think it's even possible?"

Merle muttered spitefully from behind her, "I ain't _stuck_. I know exactly what I gotta do. This prick ain't gonna get it."

The pastor leaned forward and stretched his intertwined fingers atop the desk surface. He seemed to be pondering her question even as he attempted to answer it. "Well, I can't say I'm the superstitious type. But there is a lotta talk of angels and demons within my church, as I'm sure there is in most churches."

Beth nodded, lips pressed tightly together as she listened intently.

"But," he continued. "As far as said angels or demons being 'lost souls,' I can't say. There's no evidence that really supports that theory. In my own personal opinion, if it comes to something like - oh, let's say _ghosts_ or _spirits_ \- I firmly believe they are all demons in the business of persuading and seducing humans. They're sent to earth to do Satan's work. They'll take the form of dead individuals in order to persuade and terrorize their victims."

A cold chill ran down her spine and she couldn't help but shoot a look over her shoulder at Merle. He rolled his eyes and laughed.

"Trus' me, I ain't no more of a demon now than I was when I was alive. It ain't sayin' much, but I sure as hell ain't workin' fer _that_ red-assed pussy. He can do 'is own goddamn bitchwork."

For some reason, she didn't take a whole lot of reassurance from that statement.

Tee noticed Beth's odd glance back at seemingly thin air and narrowed his eyes. He lowered his voice and asked gently, "Are you… experiencing a demonic presence, Beth?"

She quickly shook her head and smiled, though she wasn't sure it was entirely convincing. "No, no nothin' like that. I just - well, if a person told you they were hearing and seeing someone that no one else could see, you would _know_ they were mentally unstable, right? Because that's like, schizophrenia. Isn't it?"

Tee smiled and chuckled softly. "In all honesty?" He raised his eyebrows and shrugged. "I can't say that would necessarily be the case. Sure, it's usually some sort of mental illness and I would absolutely advise that person to seek professional help before they hurt themselves or anyone else. But then again, some would say that my whole congregation - me included - hears and sees someone that others cannot. We even _talk_ to 'someone who isn't really there.' And I'm very confident that we are not mentally unstable."

"Oh, I beg ta differ," Merle commented. "Y'all are batshit insane - you too, blondie."

She struggled to ignore his comment and share a light-hearted laugh with the pastor. Despite that, Tee's words were filling her with a slight relief.

"That's a good point," she agreed. "I… I guess I'm mostly just confused about God's part in this."

"Oh?" Tee frowned. "How so?"

"Well, if someone hears and sees somebody that might not be there - a 'lost soul' or whatever - then they can't even _help_ that soul because everyone will just think they need mental treatment. So why would God put someone through that? There's no reason for it. One person can't help a soul that's stuck on earth."

The pastor pursed his lips for a long second and Beth could practically _hear_ the snide smirk that was undoubtedly plastered on Merle's face. Thankfully, he remained silent. But Tee leaned back in his chair and placed his hands in his lap, gazing across the desk at Beth with a contemplative look on his face. He didn't make her feel like he was judging her, though. More like he was trying to figure out the reason for all of her odd questions.

"You're right. One person cannot help a soul if that soul is already destined for a fate of the Lord's choosing," he finally said. "Yet one person can make a huge difference if they listen closely and follow God's guidance. He speaks to us all the time - He speaks _through_ us. But it is still so rare that we actually _listen_."

She nodded, absorbing his words and letting them race through her mind. She worried her lower lip for a second while Tee sat patiently and continued to study her from across the desk.

"So… at the end of the day, it's up to God anyway," she said softly. "We don't really have any power. We can't help a soul if the soul's mortal life is already over."

"Perhaps," the pastor said. "Or perhaps not. The only thing I can tell you with certainty, Beth, is that God doesn't bring us to _anything_ that He doesn't think we can handle. Every single person has a purpose, a _power_. Sometimes they have to be thrown into the deep end, to put it simply, in order to discover the true power they possess. The Lord teaches us each as He sees fit. And who would know us better than our Creator?"

She nodded while Merle laughed obnoxiously behind her.

"Yeah - that makes sense," she mumbled. Though she still wasn't entirely convinced.

The pastor could see her doubt and he smiled understandingly. "Look, I'm not gonna claim ta be the wisest man around. I'm not even the wisest man in this building right now - "

"Got that right," Merle muttered.

" - but I know my God. And if He's the same as your God, then whatever you're going through has its purpose. You're being led to something for a reason. Maybe it's _your_ reason, maybe it's your calling in life. Or maybe it's the great test that will determine what kind of person you want to be going forward, or the kind of person you _need_ to be. But whatever God is telling you, _listen_. And listen close."

Beth sat frozen in her chair, Tee's statement sinking deep into her skin and hitting every nerve with a painful shock of awakening. All she could do was nod deftly in response.

The pastor smiled and added, "It's like my father always used to say: the Lord works in mysterious ways."

Her breath hitched and she mumbled, "My daddy always says that, too."

Tee chuckled. "That's because it's true."

Merle chimed in sourly, "Wouldn't be so _mysterious_ if you'd jus' listen to _me_ once in a goddamn while, ya stubborn li'l brat."

* * *

Beth left the Baptist church feeling only slightly better. If anything, she was filled with more questions. She couldn't even be bothered to listen to Merle's smart-ass comments, too lost in her own head as she mulled over Pastor Theodore's advice. She took solace in the fact that Tee had been a lot more accepting and helpful than she'd expected. At least he hadn't told her that she was insane and needed to seek professional help. But the disappointment from knowing that even a wise and understanding pastor couldn't see Merle hadn't faded away just yet.

The man said he could talk to God, yet he couldn't see the obnoxious redneck asshole that was so clearly standing ten feet away? He couldn't hear the racist taunts and cruel remarks? _Really_?

Whatever. She still had a list of addresses written down and she fully intended on visiting every single one until she got an answer. Or an equally definitive _lack_ of an answer.

As she drove down the street and away from the church, heading in the direction of the next address with the help of her phone's GPS, Merle rambled about their visit and how he'd been right from the start and how they were only wasting their time driving around Atlanta when they could be driving back toward Senoia and his brother.

"...I'ono what you even expected 'cause ain't nobody gonna tell ya somethin' that _I_ couldn't tell you, 'specially not some stupid nig- "

"Shut up an' smoke yer damn cigarettes," Beth cut him off sharply and pressed the button to roll his window down before turning up the radio. She wasn't in the mood to chastise him, she just wanted him to shut his mouth already.

He chuckled in amusement but did as he was told, to her surprise. It gave her a little more time to think without the sound of his voice interrupting her thoughts. She drove through Atlanta silently with Pastor Theodore's advice still echoing inside her head.

Their next stop was a Lutheran church. It wasn't much different from her regular church back in Senoia, but the Baptist church hadn't been much different either. Merle had plenty more smart-ass comments during their visit, though she was finding it easier and easier to tune him out. And he seemed to be following the terms of their little agreement so far, which made everything a lot easier than it had been thus far.

Unfortunately, she didn't get any helpful advice from the Lutheran church. The man she spoke to basically echoed what Pastor Theodore had said - with a bit less eloquence and a lot more judgement. And of course, no one could see or hear Merle. She left feeling defeated.

Next, she drove to a Pentecostal church. Merle would barely shut up the whole time, constantly making jokes about speaking in tongues and "having seizures in the name of God." He made obscene comments about nearly every member of the congregation that they came into contact with, but they couldn't hear him. The person that Beth spoke to didn't offer any help other than a long rant about demons and how tightly Satan was currently grasping at the whole of society because of a "serious lack of morality in modern living." She left feeling even more confused and dissatisfied.

After that, she drove to a Catholic church. As soon as they pulled into the parking lot and Merle saw the sign, he began laughing mischievously.

"_Catholics_?! These people're off their fuckin' rockers, girlfriend. The hell kinda answers you think they got fer you? 'Sides the best way ta molest a kid."

She rolled her eyes and bit back a retort, hoping he would lose steam if she didn't give him the reaction he was so clearly aiming for. But he didn't care because even as they climbed out of the truck and approached the building, he was rattling off every Catholic Priest joke he'd ever heard. She refused to so much as look over at him.

"Hey, hey - how d'you get a nun pregnant? Dress 'er up as an altar boy!" He laughed at every one of his stupid jokes as he recited them. "Oh oh - ya know what priests got in common with McDonald's? They both stick their meat in ten-year-old buns! _HAH_!"

Beth struggled to keep him tuned out once they entered the church and found a priest. He spoke slightly quieter, but he didn't stop. Even as she tried to have a serious discussion with the priest.

"'Ey, blondie, why do priests wear holy dresses? Ta hide the altar boy underneath!"

She knew that no one in the church could see or hear Merle because if they could, he would've been kicked out before he'd taken so much as ten steps inside. Regardless, the priest didn't offer any helpful advice except to echo the same sentiment she'd heard from Pastor Theodore. She thanked him for his time and left with more ideas in her head of eternal damnation, strange new forms of divine punishment, and a mysterious but angry God.

She hadn't spoken a word to Merle the entire time, though he seemed completely unbothered by it. He was still amusing himself even as they climbed back into the truck and left the Catholic church behind them.

"Alrigh', one more: a priest says to an altar boy, 'what's the difference between a penis and a banana?' The altar boys says, 'I'ono, what's the difference, Father?' The priest says, 'doesn't matter, you wanna come on a picnic?'" His obnoxious laughter filled the cab of the truck until Beth reached over and cranked the radio volume up.

She was beginning to regret this trip into Atlanta. With every new address she visited, she felt more and more deflated. And Merle was sure to continue reminding her how stupid and pointless her idea had been. She'd been so certain that it would be like a process of elimination, but it was only turning into a mad search that took her in endless circles. The lack of an answer she kept receiving wasn't nearly as definitive as she'd thought it would be. In fact, she had more questions than ever after talking to so many religious leaders and realizing they were just as blind as everyone else.

She suddenly began to wonder if _any_ religion actually had it right.

The next stop on her list was a Jewish Synagogue. As expected, Merle had plenty of antisemitic jokes and remarks to throw out during their visit. She was sure that her eyes would roll clear back into her head before the day was over.

The rabbi had no more answers for her than she'd already gotten. And not a single person inside the church could hear Merle. Beth left with a heavy heart and her head held high, waiting until she got into the truck to admonish Merle for all his ignorant remarks over the last couple of hours. He brushed her off, laughed, and went back to smoking his cigarettes and mumbling about his brother in Senoia.

Sadly, she had no real leverage to threaten him with and he was well aware of the fact that he had the upper-hand in their relationship. Regardless, she insisted that she absolutely could not listen to any more ignorant, racist, sexist, and hateful comments from him because it only made her not want to help him. He just laughed and muttered something about no one being able to "change" him, even after death. She sent up another silent prayer that she would somehow find someone else that could help her before she lost her damn mind.

She'd been thorough - and desperate - in her search for answers. The next address on her list was a Hindu Temple. Merle got a real kick out of that one. He didn't have any jokes prepared though, to her relief. She had higher hopes of finding someone who could hear Merle in the temple, keeping her fingers crossed that this unfamiliar and spiritual religion would be more helpful than the others. But those hopes were quickly dashed after a short conversation with a man who called himself a _pujari_. Several minutes later, she was back in the truck suffering through more of Merle's taunting criticism.

Beth was getting hungry and tired and her headache was rapidly returning to throb painfully within her skull. She decided to make one last stop before calling it a day and finding somewhere to eat a late lunch. The next address led her to an Islamic Mosque, where she had to wait outside for someone to either emerge or arrive. Merle made plenty of rude comments but she didn't bother trying to explain to him that she respected other religions and their beliefs, and no matter how different they may be, she would take help wherever she could find it.

It took a while for someone to arrive in the parking lot and once they approached the front door, Beth tried to ask for permission to enter and a moment to speak to an Imam. But she was very clearly a white, non-Muslim woman. And as far as anyone could tell, she wasn't accompanied by any men. So she was turned away with a soft apology.

Merle laughed harder than ever as they climbed back into the truck and drove away. Beth headed for the nearest fast food drive thru within sight and turned up the radio until his voice became no more than faint background noise.

She was forced to listen to him while she went through the drive thru and ordered food, though. And he must've known because he quickly seized the opportunity to make a suggestion of his own.

"You dragged me around ta every damn branch of nuthouse today, but yer forgettin' one. A real important one."

She didn't look over at him as the employee in the window took her debit card and turned around to swipe it. "Pray tell, which one?" she asked sarcastically.

"The Satanic Church!" He said, completely serious. "Y'don't think they might have some answers for ya? Might know a helluva lot more than any a them Jesus freaks an' raghead Allah worshippers."

She whipped her head to the side and stared at him indignantly. "Are you insane? I'm _not_ going that route. No matter _how_ desperate I am."

At the same moment, the drive thru employee happened to turn back around and hand her debit card over. They gave her a confused look and she smiled apologetically, taking her card back and muttering a thanks before driving forward as quickly as possible. Her face was bright red. Merle laughed. Before he could make any more absurd suggestions, she grabbed her earbuds and put one of them in her ear so it would look like she was on a phone call rather than mentally ill.

"Well that ain't fair," he continued. "Thought you'd be all about _equal opportunity._"

"Not when it comes to literally dealing with devil worshippers," she snapped, sitting and waiting patiently for an employee to appear in the window.

"Oh, c'mon. You got ol' Jesus on yer side, right? What d'you got ta be afraid of?" He chuckled.

"That's not it. I just… _no_," Beth said. "No. No way."

"Fine. So what's next? You gonna buy a Ouija Board? Or you gonna finally pull the stick outta yer ass an' accept the fact that you _have_ ta find Daryl?"

An employee handed over a bag of food and a drink through the window and Beth carefully took it, thanking them and rolling her window back up as soon as she'd set her things down beside her. She yanked the earbud out of her ear and drove over to a parking spot, where she turned off the engine and tried to ignore Merle's questions while she began eating. He seemed to be waiting for a response and she could feel his expectant glare boring holes through her.

After several bites of food, she said firmly, "No Satanic stuff. No Ouija Boards. You're more than enough _demon_ for one person."

He grunted and clicked his tongue. "So that only leaves ya one option, sweetcheeks."

She frowned and chewed slowly, thoughtful. She hated this, she really hated it. But if she expected to get anywhere, she would have to swallow her pride and admit when Merle was right. Or at least, when he wasn't entirely _wrong_.

At this point, what other choice did she have?

She balled up her food wrappings and tossed the crumpled bag to the passenger side floor with an exasperated sigh. Then she took a long sip of Sprite and leaned back in her seat, staring through the windshield rather than over at Merle.

"I told you: call me _Beth_," she said decisively. "And if I'm gonna meet this brother of yours, then I'm not goin' in completely clueless. I'm not gonna take _any_ risks when it comes to makin' myself look insane."

She knew she'd caught his attention this time because he didn't chuckle or scoff or even grunt. He paused, then said, "Alright, _Beth_. What d'you need ta know then?"

She turned her head and met his gaze. "Everything."

He furrowed his brow and a long crease appeared across his forehead. "Everythin' about what?"

She shrugged. "All of it. About you, about your brother and your relationship with him… about your death. I need enough reasons for this guy ta actually hear me out and not dismiss me as some crazy stalker."

Something flashed across Merle's face that she hadn't seen before and he looked away. There was a long moment of silence, then he coughed.

With his eyes averted downward, he replied, "Deal. 'Cept there's a little… _catch_."

_There always is, _Beth thought, holding back a groan of frustration.

"And what's that?" She asked.

He turned and met her gaze again and she saw a sadness in his eyes that almost seemed out of place. She heard it in his voice too.

"Somebody killed me. An' I don't remember a goddamn thing about it."

_Shit._

**to be continued...**


	4. Interview With the Redneck

**Interview With the Redneck**

"Wait," Beth said, staring at Merle with bewilderment. "That doesn't even make _sense_."

He immediately became defensive. "The hell you mean it don't make sense?"

"If you don't remember anything about your death, then how d'you know somebody _killed_ you?"

He rolled his eyes, as though this were something she should've already known. "Darlin', I been dead fer weeks. I went around an' found out everythin' they said about my murder. And I know it's all a buncha horseshit. Lazy policework, if ya ask me."

"Who would wanna _kill_ you?" She stopped herself when she realized what she'd said and smirked. "Nevermind - that's a dumb question. More like, who _wouldn't_ wanna kill you…"

"Uncalled for," Merle frowned.

Beth laughed and shook her head. "Whatever. Yer so full of it."

"I ain't, though."

"You probably overdosed on dope or somethin'. I hear about that kinda stuff happening ta guys like you around Senoia all the time."

"_Hell_ nah! I ain't no dumbass - I _never_ woulda OD'ed. Got awful close a couple times, but I always knew my limits."

"Then maybe your dealer killed you."

"No way. Me an' Jesse was tight. And my tab was all paid up. I _know_ it wasn't him."

Beth lifted her eyebrows and gave him a look, debating on whether she should throw out her next suggestion or not. But then she figured, what the hell. "And what if it was your _brother _who killed you?"

She half-expected him to lash out in anger and call her a stupid bitch. But he didn't. Instead, he laughed so hard that his beer gut shook and tears formed in his eyes.

"Tha's a good one, blondie," he said, still grinning and wiping away tears. "Shit. I almos' wish he did. Maybe I wouldn't be stuck here with you right now if that was the case."

_I guess that makes me feel a little better about having to meet this guy,_ she thought. _At least I know he won't murder me._

She sighed and crossed her arms over her chest. "Okay… so how did you die?"

Merle sucked his teeth for a moment, gazing downward with resentment. Then he grumbled, "They said I _hung_ myself."

Beth's eyebrows shot up and her eyes widened. "Sounds pretty cut an' dry to me…"

He gestured negatively, shaking his hands and head in denial. "Nah, nah, nah - it's not! It's _bullshit_. I ain't no fuckin' pussy, I wouldn'ta gone out like that. _Never_."

"People who kill themselves aren't _pussies_," she snapped. "Who knows, maybe the drugs made you so depressed that you felt like you had no other choice."

He scoffed. "You don't _get it_, girl. Them drugs was one a my only reasons ta keep livin'! That an' my brother. 'Sides, if I was gonna take myself out, it woulda been a helluva lot cooler than just danglin' from my goddamn bedroom ceiling."

"Oh yeah? And how would _you_ have done it?"

He shrugged and the corner of his mouth slowly curled into a smirk. "Shit, I'ono… maybe I'd've driven my car off a cliff an' went out in a big ol' fiery explosion. Or jumped off the tallest building in Atlanta - somethin' real messy that somebody else would have ta clean up." He let out a cold laugh and shook his head. "The options are jus' about endless. Ol' Merle can be real creative, I'll tell ya what."

She regretted asking.

Then an idea hit her and she reached over to grab her phone from the console between the seats. "Why am I even _asking_ you? You said you can't remember anything, I should've just Googled it in the first place," she said, staring down at her phone's screen and quickly typing in a search. "So let's just see what the _official_ report has ta say about it."

He grunted in disapproval. "What're you lookin' up now? You really think that bullshit report is gonna tell you anythin' I can't?"

Beth shrugged and ignored him. She continued focusing on her phone, scrolling through the results until she'd found what she was looking for. Merle seemed to be waiting patiently and she knew he was just as curious to hear what the internet had to say about his death.

There was only one article about his death from the Senoia newspaper, and then an obituary that had been published about a week later in the same newspaper. She realized he'd told the truth about being dead for a few weeks - three weeks and four days, to be exact. She also realized that the picture in the article was the exact same man sitting next to her right now.

It was _real_. Now she had absolutely no doubt: Merle Dixon was a very real man who had very much died and Beth had very much never seen nor heard of him once in her entire life. Yet somehow, he was with her at this exact moment, and everything he'd told her thus far added up to what she was reading. There was simply no way that her brain could've conjured up this whole experience out of nothing.

At least she knew she wasn't insane. Yet. Though she was afraid that spending much more time with Merle might drive her there.

"What's it say?" He asked impatiently after several minutes.

She finished reading his obituary and shrugged, looking up and meeting his gaze. "Your brother found you hanging from your bedroom ceiling after like, four days of not hearing from you. They did an autopsy an' found a bunch of drugs but they said you died because of the rope around your neck. Plain and simple. There wasn't even evidence of another person being present till yer brother came to check on you."

He narrowed his eyes and scowled. "Bullshit," he growled. "It's all _fucking_ _bullshit_." His hands clenched into fists in his lap.

Beth blinked and gave him a deadpan stare. "Even your _brother_ believes you committed suicide. Why should _I_ try to tell him any differently?"

Rage flashed in his blue eyes and he pounded a fist on the dashboard, causing her to jump in surprise. His voice rose until he was all but screaming at her, "You said you'd fuckin' meet him, you said you'd _talk_ to 'im! We had a _deal_! You can't go back on a deal, _princess_, this shit ain't gonna work that way!"

She reeled, taken aback by his outburst. She was growing accustomed to them but this one was different. He wasn't so much angry as he was… _desperate_.

"Calm the hell down!" She yelled back, waving a hand in dismissal. "I didn't say I _wouldn't_. I just need some really _good_ damn reasons because at this rate, I'm gonna sound like a friggin' lunatic."

His anger subsided and he scoffed. "Why the hell you care so much 'bout what other people think? You don't even _know_ Daryl."

"Because I'm _alive_, Merle. I still have to deal with consequences. If enough people think I'm goin' off the deep end, I'll get put into a _hospital_. And - like I _already told you_ \- I can't help anybody from there, least of all _you_."

He chuckled. "If you say so, blondie."

She clenched her jaw and muttered, "It's _Beth_."

"Whatever. Can we go now? We can catch 'im at work if - "

"Uh, _no_. You still have a _lot_ of questions to answer before I'm goin' _anywhere_ else."

He let out a long sigh of exasperation. Then he pulled out his crinkled pack of cigarettes and shook one into his palm, placing it between his lips and lighting it. He pulled in a long drag and as he exhaled a cloud of smoke, turned his head to Beth and smiled wickedly.

"Alrigh', Miss Wannabe Barbara Walters. Ask away."

* * *

Beth sat in the parking lot and talked to Merle for at least two hours. It was easily the longest span of time she'd ever spent actually listening to the things he said as well as making direct eye contact with him. And though he continued to be rude and annoying, he didn't make the conversation any harder than it had to be - for a change. She hadn't realized just how many questions she needed answered until now. Admittedly, she hadn't seriously entertained the idea of meeting and talking with the mysterious brother until now. But she could accept that she was out of plausible ideas of her own, just like she could accept that she had no remaining option but to resort to Merle's _brilliant_ problem-solving.

And of course, she wasn't the type to go back on a deal. Even if it was a deal with a dead guy who could maybe _possibly_ be a demon. She kept reminding herself of her dad and how she would never be able to live with herself if Merle literally haunted him to death. That was more than enough reason to keep her end of the bargain.

She learned a lot of new and valuable information. Merle explained that he was ten years older than Daryl, giving a brief description of their alcoholic father and their battered-soft mother and the "white trash trailer park" childhood they'd experienced. He said he'd joined the military and went away for a few years when he was 18 and Daryl was barely 8. And when he came back, their mother was dead - a housefire, he explained. She was a smoker and she had a bad habit of falling asleep with a lit cigarette in her hand. Apparently the life insurance money helped their father to buy a nice little cabin out in the boonies, though Daryl was left neglected and alone while Merle was away. By the time he came back, Daryl was grown and different. Though not _so_ different.

"He was always a mama's boy," Merle scoffed. His tone softened, "Even when Mama weren't around no more. He's always been the sweet one... my baby brother."

During several points in his stories, Beth got the feeling that Merle had a genuine soft spot for his only sibling. She could tell that there was only one person in the world he cared about half as much as he cared about himself, and it was his little brother. When he spoke of Daryl, she heard real emotion and deep fear and repressed heartache. But she didn't point it out; she simply nodded along and stored away every bit of information for later use.

Their daddy was nothing like Hershel. She felt sick while she listened to all the awful things Merle told her - and for once, it wasn't because _he_ was making her sick. It was because the man he described sounded like a monster. Yet he'd been a father to two boys and had helped shape them into the men they became. It was horrifying to think about.

Will Dixon had never held a steady job in his life. The only professions he'd successfully managed were bootleg moonshiner, drug dealer, and thief. To put it simply: criminal. And the worst _kind_ of criminal, from what Merle told her. The kind of man who had most likely killed a person or three in his lifetime. Instead of buying clothes or food for his kids, Will Dixon invested in his own moonshine still with the remaining life insurance money (and a little meth lab on the side that Merle didn't know about for several years) and proceeded to make his living completely illegally, all the while operating an extremely dangerous business from the comfort of his own home. When he wasn't beating up on his kids, he was drinking himself blind or getting high on crystal or fighting with other doped-up criminals. Thankfully, after a particularly nasty fight between Will and Merle not long after returning to Georgia, Merle got Daryl out and away from their dad.

Though, as Merle explained it, the lives he and Daryl went on to lead weren't much of an improvement. They'd never been anything close to their "piece of shit pa," as Merle put it. But they certainly weren't angels. Not even law-abiding citizens. They spent over a decade "just drifting around, getting lit and getting laid, just trying to survive." Though they worked odd jobs here and there, Merle admitted that the Dixon Brothers had spent the majority of their time committing a fair share of crimes - mostly victimless misdemeanors, and mostly _his_ ideas.

From the way Merle talked, Beth surmised that Daryl was a follower. He sounded like the kind of man who had no real direction except to follow Merle, his only family, his only guiding light and the only person he'd ever been able to truly trust. And it seemed that all the stupid little anecdotes of their hijinks usually consisted of Merle being a reckless jackass and Daryl being the guy who had to either suffer the consequences or clean up after him.

Once again, she didn't voice these observations aloud. She just nodded and urged Merle to go on, asking any and every question that popped into her head.

From the way he told it, Merle and Daryl had drifted apart shortly before their father died less than a year ago ("got his throat cut like a dumbass"). Merle didn't seem to have any definitive answers as to _why_ \- all he said was that Daryl had changed and kept changing to the point that they disagreed on nearly everything and fought daily. Beth had to purse her lips tightly to hold back the comments she wanted to make. Like, _well maybe he realized you're a complete asshole and that his life would be better without you getting him into trouble all the time._

He said they were still close; they had to be, they were _brothers_. He repeated his statement from earlier, "I was all he ever had. He was all I ever had. Couldn't ever _trust_ nobody else. Can't nobody understand how a Dixon works 'cept another Dixon."

But Merle didn't remember anything from the day he supposedly took his own life. According to him, the last thing he'd done was "chug a fifth of vodka, smoke a fat bowl, and pass the fuck out." Everything past that was completely gone.

_No wonder you don't remember anything_, Beth thought, suppressing the urge to roll her eyes.

He went on to explain that he knew for _sure_ he'd woken up the next day and gone on to have nearly twelve hours of _something_ before he died. He pointed out that the autopsy said he'd been dead for four days and the last day he remembered was _six_ days before he'd been found deceased.

Then he told the story of how he'd 'woken up': how he'd tracked his brother down and followed him and had done everything in his power to get Daryl to hear him. How he'd gone and found all his friends and tried to talk to them, to yell at them, to get their attention. How he'd returned to Daryl over and over and made attempt after attempt after failed attempt to communicate with his brother. How he'd become so furious and fed up and completely forlorn that he'd finally given up and wandered toward the horizon, off into the woods and away from everyone and everything. How he'd walked for days and grown to accept his current state of directionless death - his current state of being completely invisible.

And then Merle explained that he'd been all but hopeless when he happened across Beth. How he knew - _he just knew_ \- that she was the only one who could help him because… well, he'd walked for _days_ and she was the _only_ one who could see him.

"Jus' too damn bad the only person who can help me is some stubborn bimbo," he concluded.

Beth rolled her eyes and sighed. "At least I can always reassure myself that yer _grateful_."

* * *

"Okay - does yer brother have Facebook? I'd like to at least know what he looks like before I try to track him down."

"The fuck if I know. Don't waste yer time - let's go. You'll see 'im when we get there."

"Yeah, no. I'm lookin' him up. You can wait thirty more seconds."

Merle growled low in his throat and lit another cigarette. Beth ignored him and focused on the phone in her hands while the keys remained in the ignition, waiting to be turned.

A moment later, she was scrolling through Daryl Dixon's scarce Facebook profile. He didn't have any public info except his birthday and that he lived in Senoia. She looked through all of his photos, finding only a few that actually showed what he looked like. To her surprise, he didn't resemble Merle.

_He's actually kinda cute_, she thought.

Then she lifted her eyes and found Merle glaring at her impatiently. She shot him a scowl and set her phone down.

"Find what you were lookin' for, sweetheart?" He taunted as she started the truck.

"Well he has a Facebook, if that's what yer asking," she replied, backing out of the parking spot and driving toward the street.

Merle grunted and exhaled a thick cloud of cigarette smoke in her direction. "And?"

She shrugged. "An' now I know what he looks like. So I have more of an idea what to expect - ya know, along with the _life story_ you told me."

There was a beat of silence. She expected another smart-ass retort but instead, Merle cackled. Then he said, "Oh - you already got a big fat _crush_ on 'im."

Beth laughed and nearly swerved off the road. "_What_?! You've _gotta_ be kidding me."

He responded with a louder laugh and as she slowed to a stop at a red light, he insisted, "Girls like you always think li'l Darylina's _'cute_,' I bet you - "

"Oh my god." She'd been partially listening but as soon as her eyes landed on the neon sign down the block, her heart leapt and she'd forgotten what they were even arguing about.

"What? I'm right, huh? Yeah, 'course I am - "

"No, shut _up_," she snapped, pressing down on the accelerator and turning on her blinker as soon as the light turned green. Her eyes were locked on the neon sign. "We're makin' another stop."

Merle groaned. "Fuckin' _where_?"

She merged into the other lane and turned, all in silence with her gaze set on the destination ahead. Before she could open her mouth to answer or explain, he'd noticed the sign.

"A _psychic_?! I thought you said no Satanic shit!"

"It's not _Satanic_, moron. It's the one option I forgot about - a psychic… Maybe they can _hear_ you."

* * *

The flickering green neon sign above the tiny building read: _PSYCHIC_. And posted in the only window was another neon sign, this one flashing smaller pink letters that declared, _Expert in the Paranormal_. The building itself looked like a repurposed private law office, a bit run-down and clearly maintained by no more than one or two people. The only parking was curbside, so Beth carefully pulled into one of the three open spots and shut off the truck.

Her heart was racing. How could she have forgotten such a viable option? It should've been her first visit. She should've been Googling "paranormal experts" rather than "places of worship." Nonetheless, the sign had caught her attention and reeled her in at the last minute. And no matter how much Merle bitched about their deal and how he wanted to get the hell back to Senoia, she wasn't going to change her mind. Not before she at least _tried_.

He huffed and puffed and finally gave in and followed her once he realized she wasn't backing down. The smell of cigarette smoke seemed to follow her just as closely as he did.

"I'll bet she's a fuckin' fraud," he grumbled as they approached the front door. "Ain't a single one a these psychics that knows anything 'cept how to swindle money outta gullible folk."

"Well I guess we'll know soon enough, won't we?"

He grumbled some more from behind her. "Waste a my damn time."

Beth rolled her eyes and opened the door to step inside the small building. She was immediately assaulted by the pungent mixture of a dozen different burning incenses, and her eyes burned from both the smell and the drastic change in lighting. The entire place was dim as late evening, all the windows blacked out and the lights heavily draped. Wispy clouds of haze and smoke floated through the air and she had to blink rapidly before she could adjust and see anything. It was completely silent. Even the sounds of the outside world were quieted.

She expected more remarks from Merle at any moment but he remained tight-lipped behind her - oddly enough. She stepped forward and realized she was staring at a huge black curtain that separated the room into two halves. To her left was a small end table with a single bell sitting atop it and a sign that read: _Ring Bell For Assistance. Please Be Patient: Only One Spiritual Connection At A Time_.

Beth furrowed her brows in confusion as she read the sign but shrugged and double-tapped on the bell with two fingers. The high-pitched _ri-ing_ echoed throughout the room. And she waited.

Merle remained silent. She glanced behind her and saw that he was still there, though he was scowling and shifting from foot to foot uneasily. His head was on a swivel and he seemed the most uncomfortable she'd ever seen him.

She was about to ask what his problem was, but then the big black curtain rustled and she whipped her head back around to find someone emerging from behind it.

"Good evening."

It was a middle-aged woman with narrow eyes the color of rich soil and thin dark eyebrows. Her hair was half-blonde and half-brown, cut short just above her shoulders and lying flat with straight bangs that covered most of her forehead. She had a long neck, a pale and narrow face, thin red lips, and high, sharp cheekbones. She wore a flowy black dress that practically hung off her rail-thin form, the back hem trailing along the floor behind her despite the fact that she towered nearly a foot over Beth. The long sleeves covered all but her dainty wrists and bony hands. She looked like she hadn't been out in the sun for years.

She blinked slowly with heavy eyelids, smirking as if she knew something no one else did. Her eyes scanned the room and the front door before settling on Beth. "I am Lady Jadis, Seer of All. What has led you to me today, my dear?"

"You're a psychic, shouldn't you already know?" As soon as it slipped out, Beth snapped her mouth shut and shook her head.

Lady Jadis looked taken aback and her smile disappeared for a moment.

Christ, was Merle already rubbing off on her? No, Beth assured herself, she was just irritated from a long day of running around in circles and listening to obnoxious commentary from a dead man.

She quickly apologized, "I'm sorry, that's not what I meant - I know it probably doesn't work that way. I um, I saw your sign. That's what led me here."

The other woman's smile returned and she nodded, waving a limp-wristed hand in forgiveness. "Well then, Fate Itself brought you here. How mysterious." Her carefully sculpted eyebrows rose into a curious arch. "It's true: I may have The Gift, but not all forms of The Gift are received in the same manner. Tell me more about why you seek me out today, young lady." Her voice was low and menacing with an air of assumed superiority.

Beth hesitated. Then she told herself, _It's okay, this is the one person I don't have to worry about thinking I'm crazy. 'Cause even if I am, she's probably been crazy for years._

She licked her lips and quietly asked, "What d'you know about… talking to dead people?"

Jadis's face took on a very serious expression and she replied, "Contacting the Other Side? I'm well-versed with nearly every aspect. Is there someone you wish to reach today?"

Beth nearly laughed. She shook her head and reiterated, "No, I mean like… dead people who are still _here_. With us. Who can't cross over to the other side without uh, _help_."

The 'psychic' appeared a bit puzzled but tried to retain her confident and all-knowing attitude. "Oh - oh, of course. Yes, it's far less common but I've had my fair share of experience with such things."

The spark of hope Beth felt must've shown on her face because Jadis smiled and gestured toward the black curtain. Before Beth could ask another question, the older woman suggested, "Shall we step into my Room of Sight and tempt Fate? Perhaps I have the answers you are so desperately seeking."

Beth paused and eyed the black curtain.

Sure, she wasn't getting the best feeling about Lady Jadis being a genuine psychic, but she'd come this far. She might as well see what the woman had to say. What did Beth have to lose?

As she took a step forward, Jadis's bony hand reached out and stopped her. "It's twenty dollars upon entry and another twenty-five after a successful Connection."

Well, what did she have to lose_ besides _twenty bucks...

**to be continued...**


	5. Divine Fate and That Brotherly Angst Bul

**Divine Fate and That Brotherly Angst Bullshit**

Merle was still quiet as a church mouse behind her. As she trailed after the back of Lady Jadis, Beth glanced over her shoulder and saw him following with heavy feet and an even heavier scowl. Yet he wasn't uttering so much as a peep.

She wanted badly to remark on it but she didn't dare speak to him in the psychic's presence. At least not until she could figure out if Jadis was for real or not. And she got the feeling that Merle had the same intention - like they were both testing the waters. Maybe he was actually playing it smart for a change.

So far, it was pretty apparent the psychic couldn't _see_ him because she certainly hadn't acknowledged him even though he'd been obviously standing just behind Beth the whole time. But what if she could hear him when he talked? It wasn't out of the realm of possibility just yet.

The half of the room hidden behind the big black curtain didn't look much different from the other half, except that it was heavily decorated and a bit smokier. It was all the usual kinds of things you'd expect to see in a psychic's place of business, though a bit underwhelming if Beth were being honest: posters of the moon's phases, Tarot figures, palm lines, Zodiac signs and the like, along with a lot of gaudy beads and crystals and weird objects perched upon shelves that lined the walls. There was no furniture except an overstuffed couch in the far corner and a small circular table set in the very middle of the room. There was a chair on one side facing the two chairs set on the opposite side. The table was draped in a long black cotton tablecloth and the chairs were nothing more than repainted dining chairs from a dining set that probably didn't exist anymore. Beth suppressed a grimace when she spotted a crystal ball sitting in the center of the table and a stack of Tarot cards beside it.

She'd tried to be optimistic and open-minded, but there were some things that simply came off as ridiculous to her. She didn't want to let Merle's doubt seep too far into her own mind yet she had to admit that he was right for being suspicious. She knew that there were far too many people with silver tongues and ill intentions, and she wasn't going to allow someone to take advantage of her.

Lady Jadis sat in the single chair on the one side of the table and gestured silently for Beth to sit as well. She took one of the chairs on the other side, sitting uneasily and watching from the corner of her eye as Merle plopped down in the seat beside her. The psychic still hadn't noticed his presence - or at least, she wasn't acknowledging him yet. Beth was losing more faith by the second.

The skepticism must've been apparent on her face because Jadis gazed at her from across the table with a confident smile and said, "Trust me, what I charge is a small price to pay for all that I offer."

Beth quirked an eyebrow but didn't say anything. She kept expecting Merle to let out a chuckle or a grunt or even a snort of amusement. But he remained silent in his seat. He still looked uneasy.

"Shall we begin?" Jadis's thin lips curved into a tight smile and she reached her hands out atop the table. "Give me your dominant hand."

Beth swallowed hard and reached out her right hand. Jadis clasped it in hers, palm up, and her cold skin made Beth shiver. She gazed down and studied the features of Beth's palm closely. Then she was tracing a long and pointy acrylic nail across the lines, humming thoughtfully. Beth shivered again but pursed her lips and waited.

"Very interesting," Jadis said. Her voice was oddly flat and almost emotionless without a hint of an accent, Southern or otherwise. When she spoke, the 'mystic' lilt in her tone sounded forced and a bit melodramatic.

But Beth listened intently anyway, the psychic's long black nail tips grazing through the indentions of her palm.

"Yes, my dear, you have many interesting tales to tell," Lady Jadis muttered, staring down at the lines as if enthralled. "You aren't quite like everyone else, are you?"

_Is this some kind of ploy?_ Beth thought, holding back any agreements she might want to voice. _She probably says things like this to all her customers. Everyone wants to hear that they're different or special._

When she didn't get an answer, Jadis went on, "Your love line is fascinating. It's common yet… _uncommon_. Like nothing I've ever seen before."

Beth nearly rolled her eyes. She didn't come here for predictions about her love life.

"And your life line - so many splits! What happened here? How could such a young girl have so many expeditions to different planes? I'd have never thought it possible." Jadis's voice was sounding a bit more genuine as she continued but Beth kept telling herself that it was all theatrics for the sake of money. "You have… something _new _here. Something astounding and inexplicably rare. I've only ever heard of it from friends of friends of friends, in tales long told to those of us within the paranormal and psychic community. I can only describe it as…"

Beth hadn't realized she was holding her breath until she took note of the complete silence within herself. Her heart pounded and it seemed like an eternity as she waited for Jadis to explain. She didn't want to give any signals, spoken or physical, that the so-called psychic might pick up on and feed off. She reminded herself that people like this were professionals when it came to reading body language and telling someone exactly what they wanted to hear. They were nothing more than actors.

Right…?

"_What_? Describe it as what? Am I _dyin'_ or something?" Beth had become impatient and burst out, her voice nearly panicked.

Jadis raised her head and met Beth's worried gaze, giving a smile of reassurance. Though her eyes were still wide with disbelief and fascination. "My dear, you are farther from dying than every living person you've ever met. The description I want to use - well, are you a woman of faith?"

Beth nodded, brow creased in concern.

"It is Divine Fate. You were gifted by God. You were given a specific destiny; a purpose that few others on this earth have ever known… that few others will _ever_ know."

Beth's breath hitched in her chest and she yanked her hand back, shoving it between the chair and her leg to warm it up. She stared across the table with awe, even though she wanted to keep a blank face. She knew she was failing at that.

It was just too weird to hear those words from someone who'd never met her before. What did this psychic know? What the hell had she seen in the stupid lines of Beth's palm?

"And what about the _dead_ people?" She asked, raising her voice in an effort to push out the tension that hovered over them. "I didn't come here to find out about my _'purpose'_ \- I just wanna know how to get rid of this dead guy that won't stop followin' me around."

Jadis placed her hands in her lap and blinked, perplexed and taken aback. Her mouth opened and closed and opened again. She paused, furrowing her thin eyebrows. Then she repeated, "A 'dead guy following you around'? You're being _haunted_?"

Beth shrugged a bit too nonchalantly. "I guess? Whatever you wanna call it." It came pouring out of her in a rushed wave; the real questions she'd been dying to ask all day, "All I know is that he's dead - _very_ dead - and he swears I'm the only one who can see 'im or hear 'im and-and I don't know how ta _help_ him. He says I _have_ to help him, but I don't _know_ how to help somebody cross over. I never even went to college!"

Lady Jadis blinked rapidly and took a long moment to absorb everything being said to her. She leaned back in her chair and folded her bony hands in her lap. Then she sighed. But it was obvious that she was masking her real shock, forcing a look of experience that almost came off as arrogance. Beth strongly doubted that this woman had ever been approached with a predicament quite like hers.

"Helping other souls cross over is no more than a service that The Gifted must provide in their lifetimes," Jadis explained calmly. "As I said, it is the purpose you were given by God Himself. And, my dear, service to others is the rent you pay for your room here on Earth... For your space on this mortal plane, where you would not normally belong."

Beth's heart skipped and she could see Merle squirming uncomfortably in his seat beside her, a huge frown on his face. But this wasn't what she wanted to _hear_. If she wanted to be preached to about her 'purpose' and 'service to others,' she'd just go to church with her dad. This woman wasn't giving her any real damn answers.

She shook her head and sighed in exasperation. "I don't _care_ about service - I just wanna get _rid_ of him!"

Jadis nodded patiently and didn't react to the palpable frustration in Beth's tone. She responded calmly, "Of course. I understand. Hauntings can take quite an exhausting toll on the mind and spirit. Tell me: where is this dead man right now?"

Beth kept her eyes locked with the psychic's and stated plainly, "He's sitting right next to me."

Jadis visibly reeled, eyebrows rising up so high that they disappeared behind her bangs. Then she quickly tried to cover it up with a tight-lipped smile to retain her faux confidence. But her shoulders were tensed and she was sitting up straight as a board, almost appearing shaken.

"Well, this is clearly a purpose designed for you and you alone," she said, her voice as flat as ever. "I can only assume that others - even those of us with the Gift of Sight - are not permitted to see him for a number of reasons. Perhaps this man is right; you may be the _only_ one who can help him."

She could certainly think on her feet, Beth had to give her that much.

Fed up, Beth whipped her head to the side and looked at Merle with narrowed eyes. "Are you gonna talk or what? She obviously can't see you."

Merle shot her a loathing glare and sat up straight in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest and clearing his throat loudly. "I don't fuckin' like this place an' I don't like this weird bitch and 'er ugly haircut. The hell you want me ta say?"

Beth looked over at Lady Jadis expectantly, eyebrows raised, silently asking her, _Well? You heard him, right?_

But the psychic was staring back at her with a blank expression. She seemed to be waiting for something to happen, growing more and more skeptical by the second.

Beth sighed and turned back to Merle. "Talk louder - get in her ear or somethin'."

Merle rolled his eyes and grunted, heaving himself up out of his chair with far more effort than necessary. He drug his feet over the floor and Beth was reminded of a small child reluctantly going to their room after being punished. Then he leaned down until his face was mere inches away from the psychic's, his mouth so close to her ear that she _must_ have felt his hot, cigarette-saturated breath.

"_HEY_! YOU HEAR ME IN THERE, STUPID PSYCHIC BITCH?! I'M RIGHT HERE, YA UGLY GYPSY! YOU GOT NO GODDAMN TITS! TELL THIS BLONDE BIMBO TA GO TALK TO MY BROTHER! SHE WON'T LISTEN TO ME! _HEY_!"

Beth rolled her eyes at his choice of words but watched Jadis's reaction carefully. The older woman was completely unfazed. She was completely unaware.

Merle grew bored and stepped back, sighing and crossing his arms over his chest. He shook his head and frowned. "Fuckin' knew it," he grumbled. "I told you. Ya shoulda listened to me, blondie. Waste of a good twenty bucks."

It must've seemed like several long and awkwardly silent moments to Jadis because she remained seated stiffly, waiting patiently for something that wasn't coming. She was reading Beth's changing expressions and detected the growing frustration.

Beth finally shook her head and slumped her shoulders in defeat. "You didn't hear… anything?"

Jadis blinked and smiled innocently. "Shall I try one of my communication devices? It might aid me in making a Connection and interpreting his messages."

Beth frowned. _What is there to interpret? He's speaking in perfectly clear Georgian Redneck._ "So that's a no."

"I'm sorry, my dear. It appears to me that this journey is yours to take alone. I have heard voices and interpreted messages from thousands of the deceased throughout my career, but if I am not meant to intercede… well, there's simply no fighting with Fate. There is no arguing with God. There is only acceptance," Lady Jadis said simply, shrugging her stiff shoulders. "I help where I'm _allowed_ to help."

The long day was taking its toll on Beth's attitude, combined with the very little sleep she'd gotten the night before and the severe disappointment she'd endured for the last several hours. Not to mention, her tolerance for bullshit was at an all-time low after dealing with Merle for the last two days. She couldn't hide the anger in her response, nor could she stop her voice from rising.

"Yeah, whatever. But I'm almost positive yer just not _trying_ hard enough. Whatever 'experience' - " she used air quotes mockingly " - you might have with helping a soul cross over obviously doesn't apply to _my_ situation. You want my money and that's it. I think we're done here, _Lady Jadis_."

She shoved her chair back away from the table and stood to her feet. Merle had drifted over to the other side of the room where he was meandering around, bored, looking at posters and putting a good distance between him and the useless psychic while mumbling inaudibly to himself. When he noticed that Beth was about to leave, he stopped and spoke up.

"Hey!" He got her attention and she looked over to see him tapping a finger on one of the posters hanging on the wall. "Who's this? Ask her 'fore we leave - jus' real quick."

Beth sighed and took a step back from the table. Lady Jadis was standing to her feet, hands clasped tightly before her and a concerned expression on her narrow face. She was about to open her mouth and say something but Beth cut her off before she could.

"Who's that?" She asked, stretching out an arm and pointing at the poster across the room. Merle stepped toward them and watched the psychic expectantly.

Jadis turned and glanced toward the wall that Beth was pointing at. "Which one?" There were a few different posters of people, various illustrations of mythical characters and legends of superstition.

Beth kept pointing at the poster while describing it, "That one - the painting of the black guy with the hat and the moon an' the weird symbol in the corner."

"Oh," Jadis breathed out, her tone resembling amusement as she turned back to Beth and smiled. "That's a very infamous and powerful demon, young lady - "

"It's _Beth_. My name is _Beth_." She was so _sick_ of being called every stupid nickname in the book. She was sick of being patronized and talked to like some kind of ignorant child.

Lady Jadis paused and blinked, struggling to conceal her obvious dismay. Her smile became more forced and her eyes grew darker. "Sorry - _Beth_."

Beth cleared her throat and nodded toward the poster. "A demon?" Her eyes shot over to meet Merle's and she recognized the expression of disbelief that was crossing his face.

She didn't care if this stupid psychic thought she was crazy or not. She asked Merle, "Why d'you wanna know? You recognize him? Are you tellin' me that you recognize a _demon_?"

Merle scoffed and began walking toward the big black curtain, breezing past her with his hands in his pockets. "I was just _askin'_. Get off my dick, blondie."

"Beth, that demon is a very powerful force. He is not to be reckoned with," Lady Jadis clarified, her tone suddenly very stern.

But Beth rolled her eyes. She was at her wit's end with both Merle and this 'Seer of All.' She knew even less than she had at the beginning of the day and that infuriated her. If anything, all these consultations had done nothing but instill her with more fear and uncertainty.

"Well I have a God-given purpose, remember?" She said sarcastically, digging into her jeans pocket for another twenty-dollar bill. She finally found it and pulled it out, tossing it onto the table before turning to leave.

"Wait - "

"I know - you said twenty-five, but I only have a twenty on me and quite frankly ma'am, I don't think I got my money's worth - "

"That's not it," Jadis insisted firmly.

Beth paused and turned back, reluctant and annoyed. "What then?"

Merle had already disappeared through the big black curtain, eager to leave the psychic's shoddy little inhabitance.

Jadis's eyes were wide and serious, one hand held up beside her as though she were testifying, the loose black sleeve slipping down below her wrist to reveal a dainty forearm beneath. She spoke with more genuine confidence than before, her gaze so intent and self-assured that Beth couldn't help but listen.

"Your Divine Fate may be a purpose given by God... but it is known that God often works hand-in-hand with His fallen brother, Lucifer."

Beth sighed and lingered where she stood. "So basically what you're sayin' is, 'the road to Hell is paved with good intentions.'"

Jadis pursed her lips and shrugged. "I mean - yeah, pretty much."

Beth rolled her eyes for the millionth time. "I already _know_ that. Don't worry, lady, I'm not out here committing crimes or hurtin' people because of some annoying dead guy."

"That's not what I mean, though," Lady Jadis reiterated. "That old saying is truer than most, certainly. But what we all must remember is that Lucifer was not cast out because of his abhorrence. Nor because of God's rage, as we have all been told… but rather, because of God's _envy_. And even after all these millenia, that brotherly strife burns brighter than the flames of Hell itself."

Beth found herself speechless. She was frozen in place, hanging on every word that came out of Jadis's mouth. Surely it was all nonsense - she'd been taught all her life that God created Satan, not that they were brothers. Yet she couldn't help but entertain the idea. Because even after all those years of Bible study and church services and seemingly unanswered prayers… she still didn't have the answers she so desperately needed. Nothing ever quite clicked or made sense in a way that seemed plausible in her mind. Especially when she'd had so many inexplicable experiences that didn't line up with anything in the Bible or any other book. Nonetheless, she'd continued to believe and have faith and rely on all those things she'd been taught were true.

And then here was some fraudulent psychic standing in front of her, spouting a slew of things that would make Beth's daddy reel in disgust if he heard them. Maybe Beth should've reacted the same way.

But she couldn't. It made too much sense.

Not to mention, she was being followed by a man who was three weeks deceased and there sure as hell wasn't anything about _that_ in the Bible. At this point, she figured just about anything was possible.

"The relationship between two brothers is something more complicated than you or I could ever understand," Jadis continued ominously. "But it cannot be underestimated. God and Lucifer may have an entire Earth separating them, and they may appear as enemies to the masses… but every destiny they design is designed _together_. Every Fate they construct leads to a greater purpose that serves Them both equally. When all is said and done, everything in existence belongs to Them and Them only. It is no matter who attains which, because They will always be two halves of one whole."

Beth's eyes were narrowed suspiciously but her mouth had gone dry.

Jadis lowered her voice and finished, "The two vastly different roads between them always lead to one destination. The bond between brothers is unbreakable; one cannot succeed without the other. God needs Lucifer and his demons just the same as Lucifer needs God and His angels."

There was a moment of awkward silence. Then Beth muttered, "Okay. But I still don't have any more cash to give you."

Lady Jadis shook her head and the faux mystical tone completely disappeared from her voice as she said, "You might think I'm full of shit, but I know a strong woman when I see one. I might not know as much as I claim, but I _know_ that there is a reason you've been given this challenge. And I'm telling you to be _careful_. Your determination will either be your greatest fortune or your inevitable downfall."

Beth nodded doubtfully. "Right…"

Jadis raised her eyebrows and lowered her voice to add, "I'm serious. Remember this, sweet Beth: those who believe they lack a soul will sell it to the first bidder. And they will pay the interest at the cost of pure hearts like yours."

Beth sighed and shrugged, exhausted and deflated by all the melodramatic statements and theatrical warnings. "And what makes you think I have a _pure_ _heart_?"

_How pure could it be if I'm the only one who can see and hear a man as awful as Merle Dixon? _She wanted to ask.

Lady Jadis smirked and clasped her hands in front of her. "God and His brother wouldn't waste their time in testing the faint of heart. You have a Divine Fate, Beth. Don't let it suppress your true abilities."

"Yeah, okay," Beth said, turning to leave. "Um - thanks. I guess. For… whatever _this_ was."

She fast-walked away from the psychic and through the black curtain, out the door and back to the truck where Merle was waiting. He was leaning against the hood, chain-smoking and staring off into the distance. He still looked dismayed, though not as much as earlier. The sun was getting low and casting an orange glow over everything. When he saw her approaching, he flicked his cigarette and disappeared then reappeared a second later sitting inside the cab.

_True abilities?_ Beth couldn't help but run through the words in her head. _The only ability I have is putting up with this ignorant asshole. What else is there to suppress besides my growing rage_?

* * *

She had hesitated at the driver's side door. Her fingers clasped the doorhandle but her mind was somewhere else entirely. In all honesty, she was stalling. She knew that a whole new onslaught of frustrating comments from Merle would be awaiting her as soon as she climbed into the driver's seat and she wasn't quite ready for that. She needed time to think in peace and mull things over on her own. She needed time to decide just how full of shit Lady Jadis actually was and how much of what she said could be taken to heart.

So she'd paused for a long moment while standing beside the big black Ford pickup. And that was when a black boy appeared from behind the bed of the truck and approached her so rapidly that she barely had time to react.

He was at least a half-foot taller than her, dressed in faded jeans and mud-caked boots and a moss green hoodie. The hood was pulled up over his head to cover his short and curly hair. Within the shadow of the hood, she could see dark skin and big, round, mud-colored eyes set amidst a round face. He couldn't have been older than 16 or 17 even though his voice was deep and slightly scratchy, and his Southern accent was thicker and more lilted than most in Atlanta. If she had to guess, she thought he sounded like he was from the deeper south - maybe Savannah or Florida.

"Yer big black Ford, the blonde hair, the cross necklace - did'ja already talk ta Lady Jadis?" He asked.

Beth's heart was racing in her chest and she was frozen. She'd never been approached by a stranger like this, in the glow of late evening while she was all alone in the city. Sure, there were plenty of people around, but what the hell was she supposed to _do_? Start screaming? What if he was just some panhandler looking for food money? Or someone who had mistaken her identity?

Before she could make a decision, Merle appeared at her side. His stance was defensive and his voice was low, menacing.

"Get in the truck an' drive away, _quick_," he insisted. "Before this li'l _thug_ pulls out 'is weapon. Hurry, Beth! _Go_!"

But she didn't move, staring intently at the tall kid as he gazed down at her. She could see the unease on his face - he was nervous. He wasn't trying to _hurt_ her.

"Christ, blondie, get in the truck! I can't defend you, this kid can't even _see_ me! You gotta fend fer yerself!" Merle said frantically. "Lookit - he's got 'is hands in his pockets, he's prob'ly got a gun!" She tuned him out, decisively choosing to follow her own instincts.

"Who are you?" Beth finally managed to utter, eyeing the stranger up and down.

The black boy frowned and furrowed his brow. He spoke quietly and discreetly, "The Swamp Witch saw you in a vision. You need help… right?"

She immediately replied, "Yes, but - but it's a special _kind_ of help."

He smiled knowingly and nodded.

She paused and added quizzically, "How'd you - who's the 'Swamp Witch?'"

"Swamp - _what_?! He's tryin'a distract you!" Merle was baffled beside her, still waving his arms around dramatically. "Let's get the fuck outta here! He wants ta _rob_ you, blondie! You wanna be mugged an' raped out here?! Get in the truck!"

"Here." The boy reached into his hoodie pocket - Merle winced dramatically and cried out, clearly expecting a gun - and extracted a folded piece of paper, which he held out for Beth to take. She did so gingerly while Merle relaxed and huffed out a frustrated sigh.

"The Swamp Witch is anticipatin' yer arrival. Don't wait too long. Time is the vengeful enemy's most powerful weapon," the boy said.

Beth stared back, perplexed, clutching the folded piece of paper in one hand. Her voice was strained and nervous as she asked, "Can I come now? I need answers, I - "

But he cut her off sharply, "No. Not by yerself. The Swamp Witch's expectin' a _pair_ a visitors - their fates intertwined like the unbreakable vines that climb a great ancient tree."

She suppressed a humorless laugh and said, "It _wouldn't_ be by myself. I'm not _alone_."

He smirked knowingly and glanced over at Merle - wait, _did_ he? Could he _see_ Merle? She didn't have a chance to ask. Merle was rendered speechless where he stood, seemingly just as fascinated as she was at this point, and the strange boy's soil brown eyes were back on her.

Then, in his scratchy deep voice, he stated matter-of-factly, "Lemme reword that: a pair of _living_ visitors. There's somebody else yer meant ta meet. He's vital in the outcome; his fate will be determined the same as yours. Don't put it off any longer. The clock is ticking. The Swamp Witch is awaitin' yer foreseen visit."

Beth opened her mouth to ask another question but he stopped her, "We'll see y'all soon." Then he turned and practically sprinted away, across the street and around the corner until he'd disappeared from sight. Calling after him would have done no good even if she'd been able to find her voice in time.

She glanced over at Merle and saw the indignant expression on his face, anger burning bright in his blue eyes. He met her gaze and she could tell he was about to speak so she quickly looked away, down at the folded piece of paper in her hands. When he saw that she was unfolding it, he remained silent. Apparently, he was too curious to continue being angry. She could feel him leaning in and gazing over shoulder as she inspected the paper in her hands.

It was a hand-drawn map of the Southernmost parts of Georgia leading across the border into Northern Florida. There was a thick red marker line that drew a clear path through highways and roads into swamps and greenery and presumably uninhabited land. Beth studied it for a moment with wide eyes, still reeling from all the mysterious words spoken by the strange hoodie boy. There was an unfounded intensity and certainty in his voice that rang in her ears well after he'd disappeared. As though he really did have all the answers she was seeking.

Or maybe this 'Swamp Witch' had all the answers.

"Well," Merle said after too many moments of quizzical silence. "'Spose that boy knew about me."

"Ya think?" Beth replied sarcastically.

He sniggered and leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest and gazing down at her smugly. "You heard 'im: he said two _living_ people. Wonder who that could be…"

She knew what he was hinting at but she played dumb and tried to distract him. "I'ono - maybe there's somebody else who can see you an' help us." She shrugged.

His smile lessened and he scoffed, shaking his head. The smugness didn't falter. "You an' me both know what 'e means. Ain't no _coincidence_, that's fer sure. I reckon he's talkin' about Daryl."

She rolled her eyes and looked back down at the map. But she didn't have an argument. Eventually, she would have to admit he was right no matter how badly she wanted him to be wrong. Not yet, though.

"Yeah, you was in denial but'cha can't keep puttin' it off ferever, sweetcheeks. Yer gonna _have_ ta talk to my li'l brother."

Beth pursed her lips and stared down at the map, too confused to be perturbed by Merle's mocking statements.

He grinned and added, "The _Swamp Witch_ says so. I'ono the broad but she already sounds like my kinda people." Then he chuckled, all too pleased with himself.

_Talk to your brother about __**what**__?_ Beth thought. _How the hell am I gonna convince this complete stranger that his dead brother is haunting me? Or that a Swamp Witch in Florida is the only person who can help us? A 'Swamp Witch' that I've never even met?_

She was beginning to accept the fact that she was most likely losing her mind.

**to be continued...**


	6. All Dixons Are The Same

**All Dixons Are The Same**

"Why were you so quiet in there?"

"Jus' tryin'a be _helpful_. Shit."

Beth kept her eyes on the road as she navigated the streets of Atlanta to find her way to the highway and the exit that would take her home. The sun was quickly setting and she turned her headlights on, the radio playing classic country at a low volume while Merle smoked cigarettes out the open passenger window. She watched him from the corner of her eye but kept the majority of her focus on getting back to Senoia as quickly as possible.

"What, now you gonna bitch that I don't talk _enough_? Fuckin' females..."

"Shut up," she snapped. "You know what I mean. You were _oddly_ quiet - and you looked pretty uncomfortable. What was yer deal?"

Merle shrugged, turning his head and gazing out at the passing sights. "I'ono. Jus' don't like chicks like _Lady Jadis_. Can't trust 'em."

Beth rolled her eyes and sighed. "Right… Whatever you say."

Then he quickly changed the subject. "She really got you with that God bullshit, huh?"

"No." She furrowed her brow and shot him a glance to find him looking at her with a smug smirk. "I mean - I took everything she said with a grain of salt. But she wasn't _entirely_ off-base…"

"You kiddin' me?" He cackled and shook his head. "She read you like a goddamn book, blondie. Saw that li'l cross 'round yer neck an' asked _all_ the right questions. Played you like a fuckin' _fiddle_, I'll tell ya what."

Beth worried her lower lip and suppressed any retorts that might've leaked out. Merle made… a good point. As sad as it was to admit that. She'd forgotten that she was proudly displaying her faith at all times. And what better detail for some money hungry psychic to latch onto than a young girl's belief system? Play a little bit on her fear of God, her confusion in the current situation, her obvious self-doubt and slightly misplaced determination...

_Shit_, Beth thought. _Whatever. At least it was only forty bucks._

She swallowed hard and cranked up the volume on the radio until it was filling the cab and her head. Merle didn't seem to mind. He began to happily sing along as he continued chain-smoking.

They were on the highway before he spoke again. She turned down the radio - but only because he was asking her a question in a normal manner rather than his usual mocking tone.

"So where we headin'? Back to the farm?"

She nodded. "Yeah. I'm ready to be home."

He groaned. "Didn't ya hear the boy? That shit about time bein' a weapon? We gotta get to Daryl 'fore it's too late."

Beth frowned and glanced over at Merle. "Before it's too late for _what_? Half of what that kid said didn't even make sense and, might I _remind_ you, we still don't know for sure that he was talkin' about your brother."

He sighed loudly and stomped a foot on the floorboard, anger quickly rising and reddening his face. "_Bullshit_! Don't be playin' dumb with me, princess. You know what he meant an' you _know_ it's gotta be Daryl! Shit, you was willin' ta go pay some fake psychic cunt ta tell you what I been tellin' you the whole time - what the hell else d'you _need_? We coulda spent that time actually talkin' to my goddamn brother."

She pursed her lips and stared straight ahead, hands clutching the steering wheel tightly. She didn't have any more excuses. If she dragged Merle back to the farm again before seeking out his brother, she knew he'd throw a hissy fit and possibly break more things in her bedroom. Or he'd get vindictive and start putting his effort into haunting her dad.

And as much as she didn't want to admit it, she also knew that the strange kid probably _was_ talking about Daryl and that she probably _did_ need to get to him before too much time had passed. She didn't like to entertain the idea that this weird mission she was on had some kind of time limit, but if it did… well, she didn't want to be late. What if there was some actual weight in what that kid had said? What if there was more to this whole 'helping Merle cross over' thing than she'd thought? What if all that rambling nonsense that had spewed from Jadis's mouth had some sort of meaning to it?

The strange kid's words kept repeating inside Beth's head and after a few long moments of tense silence, she sighed in defeat. She didn't look over to meet Merle's gaze, keeping her eyes on the road through the windshield.

"_Fine_," she muttered. "We'll… try ta track him down tonight. Just fer a quick chat. I doubt he'll be willing ta listen to me, but I guess we'll see."

Merle grinned and the excitement on his face almost made her change her mind.

"Or _you'll_ see."

He was _too_ excited.

* * *

Beth followed Merle's given directions once they'd gotten into Senoia. At first, he directed her to a small trailer sitting in a rundown trailer park on the outskirts of town. But when they drove by and he didn't see what he was looking for, he glanced at the clock and asked what day it was. When she told him it was Tuesday, he groaned and redirected her to the other side of town. She begrudgingly drove, all the while thinking of how nice it would be to go home and lie down in her bed.

On the outskirts of the other side of town was a small bar with half a dozen motorcycles parked outside. She'd never been inside but she knew that it was one of the bars her father used to frequent back in his drinking days. But that was way before she'd come along. She'd only heard stories, she'd never had any reason to go inside. In the last few years since she'd been of legal drinking age, she'd only ever gone to bars in the city, and only at Maggie's invitation. She had no real interest in drinking or visiting drinking establishments.

But now, as she slowed and inspected the bar through the passenger window, Merle tapped the glass and grinned. "Yeah - there's 'is bike. _My_ bike. He's here."

"So… we wait for him to come out?" She asked.

He looked at her indignantly. "No - we go inside an' corner him. You wanna be waitin' out here all night?"

Beth shrugged, frowning.

Merle grunted disapprovingly and gestured towards an open parking space outside. "Jus' park the truck an' let's go in. Time is of the essence, sweetheart. 'Member?"

She rolled her eyes but parked the truck anyway. It was a shadier spot at the side of the small building. The sun was sinking quickly behind the horizon, stars appearing in the dark sky as night took over, but there were several lights around the outside of the establishment. She clutched her gray cardigan a little tighter around herself as she locked the truck and stuffed the keys into her pocket, and this time she found herself trailing after Merle while he led the way to the entrance.

He stopped by the front door and turned around to face her, a stern expression on his face that halted her in her tracks.

"Now look - he can be a little… _closed-off_. Alrigh'? He's _sensitive_. Might be queer, I'ono, I always thought he was a li'l bit of a pussy. But he's got some stupid buddy that I never liked an' he's probably here with 'im tonight. Don't let the guy distract ya. Fucker's ugly as sin but he's harmless. He ain't got no hold on Daryl. A Dixon is a Dixon, through an' through. Can't nobody change that."

Beth stared back quizzically. "Okay…? What does that even _mean_? You're _not_ helping my anxiety here, ya know."

Merle's jaw stiffened and he rolled his eyes skyward for a second, groaning. Then he waved his hands dismissively and muttered, "Nevermind. Jus' listen ta what I fuckin' tell ya and _fer the love of God_, don't try ta… _improvise_. Or whatever it is broads like you do that makes 'em look like fuckin' fools."

She crossed her arms over her chest and narrowed her eyes. "_Excuse_ me," she said defensively. "If anything, _you'll_ be the one makin' me look like a fool. Let's not forget that _you're_ the entire reason I'm even here in the first place. Your brother's gonna think I'm schizo no matter _what_ you tell me to say."

He frowned and sucked his teeth loudly. Then he muttered, "Not necessarily. Not if you say the _right_ things. Best get that through yer head real quick, blondie. 'Bout time you started acceptin' reality."

Her jaw dropped and she wanted to snap back with a spiteful remark. But she didn't. Instead she clenched her teeth and sighed with exasperation, assuring herself it was a losing battle and not worth the energy it would take to respond. Then she reached out and pulled open the door.

The smoke inside the bar wasn't quite as assaulting as the psychic's den but it still made her nose burn and her eyes water. Once she adjusted, she stepped farther inside and let the door fall shut behind her. The establishment was small, an open room with a bar off in one corner and a handful of tables against the walls. There was a jukebox in another corner playing classic country and wide open floor space in front of it for dancing and moving about. The smoke was all from cigarettes, drifting up and wafting about, and the smell of stale tobacco and cheap whiskey permeated everything. The lighting was dim with limited windows draped in heavy curtains, and there was a quiet hum of conversation and laughter drifting around the room.

There were no more than ten patrons scattered throughout the bar, most of them dressed in typical biker leather and vests. The majority were men, maybe two or three women, all middle-aged or older. Beth glanced around and felt horribly out of place, but Merle was quick to talk into her ear and hover at her back.

"There 'e is - in the corner," Merle pointed. "With the ugly fucker."

She followed where he was pointing and looked over to the right corner of the room, spotting a small table occupied by two men. One of them had shoulder-length blond hair and the other had shaggy dark hair. They were both clutching mugs of beer and wearing leather vests, leaning forward atop the table and conversing. The dark-haired man had broader shoulders and a thicker frame in general while the blond man was scrawny and a bit taller. But if it hadn't been for Merle, Beth probably wouldn't have been able to spot Daryl at all. His hair was longer than the photos she'd seen on Facebook and it hid his face from view.

"The one with the angel wings on his vest?" She asked quietly, eyeballing the faded white wings on the back of the dark-haired man's vest. They almost shone like a beacon from across the bar.

"Yeah," Merle assured. "Told 'im that vest was fuckin' gay but he never listened to me. Makes 'im look like a girl."

Beth scoffed and mumbled, "I think it looks nice. A lot nicer than anything _you'd_ wear."

He laughed crudely. "Too bad fer you, you'll never see anything _I'd_ wear, sweetcheeks."

"Right… too bad for me."

"Shit - ol' Merle all cleaned up always had _all_ the straight girls soakin' their panties. Not like _you'll_ ever know."

She sighed and brushed him off, asking seriously. "So how the hell am I supposed to approach this guy?"

"_Psh_," he huffed. "Like a _person_? Jus' walk up, introduce yerself - yer a pretty li'l thing, won't take much ta get his attention."

"And what about getting him _alone_?" She mumbled quietly, hoping no one was watching her seemingly talk to herself. "I'm not about to try ta convince this guy of our _predicament_ while his buddy is sitting there listening to how crazy I am."

"Just mention me," Merle said simply.

She shot him a questioning look.

He shrugged. "'M serious - jus' start talkin' about my _suicide_ or whatever. Ask 'im if he _really_ thinks I woulda killed myself like that. He'll have to listen."

Beth closed her eyes and breathed out through her nose. "That… is not a plan."

"Shit, jus' make a move, girl! If you say the right shit, he won't be _able_ to ignore you! C'mon, yer smart, right? Use them brains fer once."

She was realizing that she should've sat down and forced Merle to hash this out with her a lot more beforehand. But now it was too late. She was already faced with the opportunity and it was pointless to turn around and put it off any longer. Besides, this conversation would _never_ be easy. She might as well just get it over with. Plus, if Daryl turned her down and shunned her, maybe Merle would finally realize that it was useless and that he should start focusing on other solutions.

She could hope.

Luckily for Beth, the anxiety and self-doubt caused her to linger by the front door for several long moments. And then the blond man was getting up and heading to the bathroom. And the next thing she knew, Daryl was alone at the table.

"Now - there's yer chance, go talk to 'im," Merle urged. Not that she needed his pushing.

She strode forward before she could second-guess herself and approached the dark-haired man in the angel wings vest. He didn't notice her until she was standing at the edge of his table, and even then he merely looked up and gave her a puzzled look.

"I, uh - are you Daryl Dixon?" She didn't know what else to start with. Merle scoffed behind her but she ignored him.

Daryl's dark hair was in dire need of a cut and partially hid his face but she could see narrowed azure eyes studying her and his mouth pressed into a thin line between a graying mustache and goatee. His shoulders were hunched but his back straightened when he realized she was speaking to him. He glanced her up and down. Then he scowled.

"Yeah?" He asked. His voice was low and gruff, much deeper and quieter than Merle's but a hell of a lot easier on the ears.

Her mouth had suddenly gone dry and she could feel her face turning red. "I, uh - your brother. Merle - "

He cut her off with a scoff of disgust and a scornful look. "He's dead. I ain't got no drugs for ya an' he didn't have shit when he died. Sorry, but I can't help ya. Best keep movin'."

She was left speechless. Merle was sputtering behind her, audibly indignant.

"That fucker," he growled.

"No, I'm not - that's not what I'm here for," she clarified. "I don't want _drugs_. I don't do any of that."

Daryl met her gaze again and narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Yeah? All I been gettin's a buncha tweakers hittin' me up fer whatever he owes 'em. The hell you want from me, girl? He's _dead_."

She shook her head and insisted, "I didn't know your brother when he was alive. Look - this is gonna sound absolutely _insane_, but Merle's suicide maybe, probably, possibly might _not_ have been an actual… suicide. I-I have this um, _information…_"

His brow furrowed and his frown was deepening with every word she spoke, eyeballing her suspiciously the whole time.

"I know you don't know me. I don't know you either. And I didn't know your brother, but he - well, okay, look… He's dead. And he won't leave me _alone_," Beth said matter-of-factly. "You might not believe me and I don't expect you to, but all I want is to get rid of this asshole. He's driving me _insane_."

Daryl blinked in astonishment and his mouth opened but no sound came out. He shook his head and leaned back in the chair, blinking again. For the briefest second, she thought he might _believe_ her.

Then he chuckled.

"Yeah. Alright. Sounds like you been doin' too many drugs, darlin'. Lay off the dope, he'll go away."

She clenched her hands into fists at her side and argued, "I'm not on drugs, dude. I _promise_ you. Do I really look like somebody who's strung out on dope?"

He shrugged. "Kinda. Yer pretty goddamn skinny."

Merle laughed loudly from behind her.

Beth sighed and quirked an eyebrow. "That's it? I'm skinny so I must be on _meth_? Real nice."

Daryl shook his head and chuckled, waving a hand as if to shoo her away. "Whatever. I don't know you an' I ain't got nothin' ta do with any'a Merle's bullshit. Whatever y'all had worked out don't mean shit ta me an' I don't owe you a fuckin' thing. Walk on, princess."

_Well they're definitely brothers,_ she thought, growing frustrated.

"Tell 'im ta ask you somethin' that only I would know," Merle suggested.

She sighed and straightened her back, focusing on Daryl even though he was looking down at his beer and pretending she wasn't there. His friend would be back any second and she was becoming desperate. If she couldn't convince him now, she definitely wouldn't be able to convince him once his friend was present.

"Okay - I'll prove it. Ask me something that only Merle would know," she said.

Daryl chuckled and leaned back in his chair, shaking his head. He wouldn't look at her but his voice was edged with annoyance. "Look, I ain't playin' yer stupid game. I don't entertain dopeheads."

Merle growled from behind her and practically _yelled_ in her ear, causing her to jump. "Ask 'im about the time I convinced him ta stick his dick in a dead racoon!"

Beth turned her head and looked at Merle with repulsion.

He raised his eyebrows and urged her, "Go on! Ask 'im!"

She responded without thinking, "_Ugh_, no! I'm _not_ asking him that!"

Merle rolled his eyes and groaned but she snapped her mouth shut and quickly looked to see Daryl staring at her with wide eyes. Then he shook his head and scoffed.

"Jesus, you really are deep in it, ain't ya? Hearin' voices an' shit? Better get into detox 'fore it's too late, sweetheart." He picked up his beer and took a long swig, once again pretending she wasn't there.

Her face went beet red and she wanted nothing more than to turn and flee from the bar and never look back. But Merle was still in her ear, his anger and frustration growing even quicker than her own.

"Fine - _fine_," she surrendered, sighing and looking down for a second. She leaned in a bit and lowered her voice and asked as seriously as she could manage, "Um, he - he said to ask you about the… the dead racoon."

Daryl's eyes went wide and he immediately gave her his full attention. He looked taken aback and a bit embarrassed, his cheeks turning pink even as he shook his head and waved a hand to shoo her away.

"I don't wanna hear 'bout whatever kinda _weird shit_ Merle used ta tell you when y'all pillow talked," he growled angrily. "Get the hell outta here. I ain't ever hit a woman before but if you keep talkin' to me like that, I'mma start considering it."

Beth took a step back, her heart pounding.

"Goddammit!" Merle cursed in her ear. "Stubborn li'l prick. I shoulda known he wouldn't give a _shit_ about me. His only brother, the only person who ever fuckin' cared about 'im!"

"You're not _helping _\- I need better suggestions," she whispered through clenched teeth, though she was pretty sure Daryl could still hear her. He was sitting hunched over his beer but every muscle in his body was tense and he looked dangerously close to lashing out at her if she didn't leave him alone.

Merle grumbled angrily for a second, then he snapped his fingers and said decisively, "Ah! Tell 'im - fuck. Tell him… that Mama's fire wasn't no accident. Tell 'im all those questions he had - tell 'im I got the answers. If he still wants 'em."

Beth blinked, perplexed. But she didn't have time to unpack this particular baggage right now. So she took his suggestion and ran with it, attempting to word it as convincingly as possible.

"The fire that killed your mom," she started. He whipped his head around and glared at her, but she continued before he could snap back. "Merle says it wasn't an accident. He says if you still want the answers to all those questions you had, he has them."

All the blood had drained from Daryl's face and he was staring at her with disbelief, his mouth open but no sound emitting. His tight grip around the beer mug had gone lax and he wasn't even blinking.

She added, "Whenever you're ready."

He appeared to be speechless, still eyeing her with skepticism yet seemingly in a different light than before. She hoped she'd at least convinced him that she wasn't on drugs.

"Shit - Ugly's comin' back," Merle muttered, and she glanced over to see what he meant.

Daryl's friend was returning from the bathroom and Beth saw why Merle called him "ugly" for the first time: half his face was scarred from a burn, leaving half of his blond hair patchy and wispy along with it. He wasn't ugly, though. In fact, he looked like he might be a pretty nice guy. Not that she necessarily wanted to find out.

Beth gave Daryl a meaningful look and told him, "I'll wait outside if you decide you wanna talk to him again - and maybe help me get rid of him for good. I'm parked on the side, a black truck. If you don't want to… you won't hear from me again. I'll figure it out on my own."

Before he could respond, she turned around and fast-walked toward the front door with Merle hot on her heels and muttering angrily to himself. She couldn't take a real deep breath until she got outside to the fresh air.

"The hell was that?! You can't be givin' him _options_!" Merle cried as they walked back to the truck.

She shook her head and sighed, heart still pounding inside her chest. She guessed her face was probably still bright red, too. "Because if I give him an option, it won't make me seem like some desperate lunatic lookin' for a drug deal or something."

"_Nuh-uh_, not necessary. Mentioning Mama's fire was more'an enough, trust me. Daryl ain't never done good with makin' his own decisions."

She stopped in front of the truck and spun around to face Merle, glaring at him through narrowed eyes. "How would _you_ know? He's a grown man, maybe part of the reason you 'drifted apart' is 'cause you say shit like _that_ \- acting like he can't make his own decisions. Maybe if you'd given him more _options_, he would've still been following you around and you wouldn't've _killed_ yourself - "

"I didn't _fucking_ _kill_ _myself_! Goddammit! _You_ don't know my brother, Beth! _I do_!"

Merle's face had gone deep red and his fists were clenched at his sides. But Beth was growing so accustomed to his anger that she didn't let it faze her.

She crossed her arms over her chest and shrugged. "You _knew_ him. People change, Merle."

He scowled. "_Bullshit_. People stay the same, no matter what kinda pretty new masks they end up tryin' on. At the end a the day, ain't nobody that can get away from who they really are. 'Specially not a _Dixon_."

Beth quirked an eyebrow. "From what you told me, Daryl isn't exactly _like_ every other Dixon."

Merle threw his head back and barked out a cold laugh. "Shit, maybe so. But where it matters? That boy's a hundred an' fifty percent Dixon. Till the day he dies."

He paused and grinned proudly, blue eyes twinkling.

"Hell - even _after_ he dies. Jus' look at me! I'm _dead_ proof!"

She rolled her eyes and he laughed even harder.

_Please help me, Daryl,_ she silently prayed. _You might be the only person who can teach me how to deal with this dickhead._

**to be continued...**


	7. Small Town Medium

**Small Town Medium**

Beth sat in the truck with Merle for well over an hour. He chain-smoked out the window while she scrolled through social media on her phone, trying to avoid replaying the mortifying conversation with Daryl inside her head. Her face turned red every time she thought about it and she was almost positive that she would never speak to him again. He was convinced she was high off her ass, and though her final statement had clearly hit some kind of nerve, she wasn't sure it was the _right_ nerve.

She glanced up every few minutes and watched the front door. Throughout the hour, she and Merle observed four people exiting the bar and mounting their motorcycles before driving away. But none of them were Daryl or his friend.

Merle grumbled discontentedly here and there, more to himself than anything. He'd spent a good fifteen minutes bitching about Beth not "understanding" Daryl and not approaching him the right way, but she ignored him and brushed it all off. She'd tried her best and that was all she could do. The rest was up to Daryl and she knew she wouldn't be able to convince him to believe her if he really didn't want to nor could she make him do something he didn't want to do. Merle would just have to accept it sooner or later. No matter how much he complained and insisted otherwise. She sure as hell wasn't going to risk getting a restraining order put on her over _this_ dead asshole.

At this point, she was prepared to drive out to the Swamp Witch all by herself. She'd do just about anything if it meant getting rid of Merle. But there was no use in risking being turned away. The nameless black kid had specifically said "_a pair of living visitors._" He'd made it sound like the Swamp Witch wouldn't even be willing to help her if she couldn't follow those simple directions; and she was inclined to believe him.

After a while, she forced herself to think optimistically. Daryl had been bothered and she could tell that she'd said _something_ right to get his full attention. So maybe he would end up coming out and talking to her, just for the sake of clearing his conscience? Surely he'd want _some_ kind of explanation for the odd things she'd said. Surely he'd want to know exactly what sort of 'answers' she could actually provide.

According to Merle though, the probability was low.

"You fucked it up, blondie," he grumbled. "He jus' thinks yer some kinda tweaker bitch - "

"And why d'you think _that_ is?" Beth snapped, glaring at him. "I told you this would happen, I _told_ you this is how it would be. Nobody's gonna listen to some girl who says she can see a _dead_ guy."

Apparently he'd expected his brother to immediately accept the fact that Merle was dead and trying to talk to him. Beth was appalled by Merle's pure ignorant entitlement, as well as the fact that everything she said to him seemed to go in one ear and right out the other. He was the densest man she'd ever had the displeasure of meeting.

"Shit, you coulda done better! Coulda batted them eyelashes and shook them li'l hips a yers - _somethin'_! But no, you had ta come at 'im like some kinda escaped psych ward patient when I fuckin' _told_ you - "

"_Shut up_, Merle! Okay?! I did the only fucking thing I _could_, there aren't a whole lotta options here!" She blew up at him, so furious that she was nearly brought to tears. "Don't you realize that yet? Like - you realize that no matter how I try ta word this to _anybody_, they're gonna think I'm out of my _mind_?"

He scoffed and shook his head. "Not if you was smart about it - "

"There _is_ no being smart about it! It's the same no matter what, you ignorant ass! I'm a twenty-four year old woman who's being haunted by some old guy I've never even met and no one else can hear or see him. Whichever way you try to twist it, I'm still clinically _insane_!"

"'M not _old_. I'm middle-aged, fer yer information."

She rolled her eyes. "Whatever. You're dead. That's not an _age_."

He grunted in disagreement and turned his head to look out the window. "Gray hair don't mean I'm old…"

_If I could kill you a second time, I would,_ Beth thought, gritting her teeth.

"Either way, we don't _know_ that he's gonna blow me off," she said firmly. "He seemed pretty upset by what I said. I think he'll come out an' talk to me. Maybe he'll hear me out... If nothin' else, he'll want those _answers_ you promised."

Merle grunted again but didn't turn to meet her eyes.

She waited expectantly, then added, "What was that about anyway? I thought your mom's fire was ages ago, you said it was an accident. What questions could he have?"

"I don't wanna talk about it," Merle mumbled.

She sighed. "That's fine but I kinda need to know what I'm s'posed to say if he comes asking - "

"I _said_, I don't wanna _talk_ about it. 'S between me an' Daryl."

"Well Daryl can't _hear_ you, so it kinda concerns me too, ya know."

"Don't fuckin' worry about it. Get off my dick already."

She paused and rolled her eyes. Then she asked, "You _do_ have those answers, right? It wasn't bullshit? _Please_ tell me it wasn't bullshit."

He waved his hand dismissively without looking at her. "Yeah, yeah. We'll burn that bridge when we get to it, blondie."

Beth sighed and tried to push down the wave of fresh anxiety that was rising inside her chest. She was already emotionally exhausted thanks to Merle, toeing the line of rage almost constantly and holding back endless outbursts. He was the most infuriating person she'd ever met, hands down. But she couldn't quite give up hope that his brother would be a little more bearable - once she got past the rough exterior, that is. Daryl was pretty much her only hope now. She went back to staring at the front door, waiting patiently for a glimpse of the angel wings vest.

The sun sank down and disappeared behind the horizon, leaving streaks of orange and purple in its wake. Then the sky darkened and the stars multiplied against a black backdrop and the near-full moon shone bright from its spot high above. The air got chillier but Beth didn't roll the windows up, pulling her cardigan a little tighter over her arms and basking in the breeze. After what felt like forever, it finally happened: Daryl emerged from inside the bar.

As soon as she spotted him, she leaned forward in her seat and wrapped her fingers around the steering wheel, grasping tightly and watching with bated breath. She could hear Merle muttering a soft "oh" of realization from the passenger seat before he was leaning forward, too. Then they were both waiting, tense, their eyes locked onto Daryl and watching his every move in silence.

His friend was trailing after him, of course. They exited the bar and walked over to their bikes, which were parked side-by-side, and chatted for a few minutes. Daryl gestured heavily with his hands and smiled often while his friend laughed a lot and nodded in agreement. Then they hugged briefly and said goodbye and the friend mounted his motorcycle and drove away. Daryl stood next to his own bike and watched the blond man drive off with his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans. Even from a distance, he appeared contemplative.

Merle scoffed at the exchange and spoke with loathing, "Fuckin' faggots."

Beth side-eyed him, suppressing a mocking laugh. "Somebody's jealous that their baby brother has _friends_."

Merle growled at that but didn't meet her gaze, his narrowed eyes locked on Daryl through the windshield. "Ain't fuckin' _jealous_. I jus' don't like that asshole. Never did. He's a pussy."

Beth rolled her eyes and chose to ignore him. The more time she spent with him, the more clear it became that he was immature and emotionally stunted in a way that could never be fixed.

For a moment, she feared that Daryl may be afflicted with the same root toxicity. But then she reminded herself that he'd been smart enough to distance himself from Merle, so maybe he wasn't such a lost cause after all. Surely he knew how awful his big brother actually was; surely he'd wanted to break the cycle in some way or another.

Then again, she had to remember not to expect too much from another Dixon. Especially considering how Merle talked about them and their reputation. And if Daryl was what he called "sweet," then their definitions were all kinds of screwed up. Daryl had come off as just about everything _but_ 'sweet' when Beth talked to him. Though she did have to remember that he had his guard up and that, if she were in his position and had experienced a life like his, she'd probably have the same reaction to a stranger saying the things she'd said to him.

Nonetheless, she wanted to stay optimistic. So she silently willed Daryl to walk towards her, to open his damn mind and hear her out. _Please don't get on your bike and leave just yet,_ she prayed.

And sure enough, he didn't. He lingered for a long moment and she could see him glancing in her direction though not definitively looking at her or the truck. She was parked in the shadows and he probably couldn't see more than a dark truck-shaped figure from where he stood. Merle was muttering quietly but she'd tuned him out long ago. Then Daryl was taking a few hesitant steps forward. Her heart leapt and he paused. He glanced back toward his bike uncertainly but continued to walk. She let out her breath in one deep sigh when she realized he was heading straight for her.

"Here he comes," she whispered. For some reason, her hands were trembling.

"Yeah, no shit. Get outta the truck, he ain't gonna trust ya if he can't see that yer not armed," Merle muttered.

Beth didn't question his advice. She nodded and opened her door, stepping down and out of the big black Ford before quietly shutting the door behind her and taking a step away from the vehicle. Just in time for Daryl to approach.

He stopped at the edge of the curb in front of the truck, keeping a good ten-foot distance away from her. His hands were shoved into his pockets and he was glaring at Beth suspiciously. Merle appeared at her side but didn't speak. She could see his fingers twitching restlessly against his pants from the corner of her eye.

_Oh my god, why didn't I plan out what I would say if he actually came over here? _She thought, furious with herself.

Luckily, she didn't have to linger on that thought for too long because Daryl cleared his throat loudly and spoke up.

"'M pretty sure yer just another twack star lookin' fer some kinda handout - "

"I'm not. My name is Beth Greene. I live on my family's farm, where I've lived my whole life. I'm nobody special, but I don't do any drugs. I promise. You can ask anybody in my family or on my farm, they'll tell you I'm not doped out or insane."

The words poured out of her almost like a plea. But Daryl was listening. His mouth snapped shut and he stared back at her, eyes narrowed.

She went on, wavering uncertainly beneath his scrutinizing gaze, "I mean - I don't _think _I'm insane. But there's this _weird thing_ that's been happening and it - it makes me think I'm losin' my damn mind. I'm not tryin' to drag you into anything. I just… I think you might be the only one who can help me at this point."

He was worrying his lower lip and studying her with a new curiosity. Though she could tell from the look in his eyes that he was still doubtful and guarded. His shoulders were stiff.

"The hell does that mean?" He growled. "Help with _what_?"

She cleared her throat and took a deep breath, then tried to keep her voice as steady as possible, "I don't _know_ exactly. I know it sounds ridiculous - and _it_ _is_, it's so much more ridiculous than you could imagine - but your brother found me yesterday morning and... I'm the only one who can see him. He convinced me to come talk ta you. He says he didn't kill himself. He thinks somebody killed him. And he thinks _you're_ the only person who can help me figure it out."

Merle grunted from beside her. "Don't _think_ \- I _know_." She ignored him and kept her eyes locked on Daryl.

The living Dixon was grinding his teeth, studying her suspiciously. She could see the deep doubt on his face, but she could also see a hint of intrigue behind strands of shaggy dark hair. She kept praying inside her head, _Please believe me, please believe me_.

"Greene, huh? Where's yer farm?"

His question caught Beth off-guard and she blinked, sputtering for a second as she replied, "I uh - yeah. It's jus' south of town, a few miles out."

Daryl tilted his chin upward and his suspicion gradually turned to contemplation. "You related ta Ol' Man Greene?"

She smiled reflexively and nodded, answering proudly as she always did, "Yeah, Hershel is my dad. I have an older brother an' sister, Shawn and Maggie."

Daryl sucked on his teeth thoughtfully and eyeballed her up and down for the hundredth time. Then he nodded. "Yeah, I know 'bout yer family. But I dunno how you coulda known Merle 'less you was buyin' from him or fuckin' him."

Beth crinkled her nose in disgust while Merle cackled beside her. "As if I'd ever hump some flat-chested broad like you."

It was becoming second nature for her to tune out his crude comments. She quickly explained, "Yeah, that's the thing - I _didn't_ know him. I never met him while he was alive, I'd never even _heard_ of him. Or you."

"_Huh_," Daryl grunted, frowning.

"No offense, I just - I stay pretty busy on the farm and I don't really go out much or meet new people. And my daddy's never mentioned a Dixon before…"

"Yeah, I ain't never met yer pa. Jus' a small town, everybody knows everybody. I got some buddies who mention 'im from time to time, know some people who worked for 'im." He paused and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "You know Sheriff Grimes?"

She smiled and nodded, her heart skipping hopefully. "Yeah! I babysit for him sometimes. We've known his family since I was in high school."

_Thank God for small towns,_ she thought.

Daryl furrowed his brow and asked, "How old're you?"

"Twenty-four," she replied. "Why?"

He shrugged and glanced back over his shoulder, remaining silent for a moment. Beth tensed and waited, unsure of whether he would tell her to fuck off and walk away or if he might be almost convinced to hear her out. It seemed that her family's name and the unseen grapevine within Senoia had been the in she'd needed and she hadn't even realized it.

Although she really hoped he didn't plan on actually going and asking everyone who knew her if she was insane or doped out. That would make things a lot more difficult.

He appeared to be toeing the line between belief and skepticism, having an unspoken argument with himself that was prevalent in his expression. He finally sighed and shrugged.

"You _swear_ yer not on drugs?" He asked.

She held back a laugh and nodded confidently, "I swear."

"So what - you tellin' me yer like one a them _mediums_ or whatever? Like the ones on TV that can talk ta dead people an' shit?"

Beth shook her head and her smile disappeared, her voice wavering with uncertainty. "I don't - I don't _think_ so. But I spent all day goin' around to every church I could find and I even went to some lady who claimed she was a 'psychic,' and _nobody_ else can see him. They can't answer any of my questions. They just keep tellin' me it's like, my _destiny_ or somethin'. Like I'm supposed to help him cross over even though I have no connection to him whatsoever."

Daryl's eyes narrowed in confusion. "_Cross over_?"

She shrugged and explained, "To the 'other side' - Heaven or Hell or what-have-you. I guess."

He quirked an eyebrow and considered her statement for a few seconds. "Right… okay."

Merle had been uncharacteristically quiet for the last couple of minutes but now he spoke up, "You got 'is attention, blondie. Mention the fire again."

Beth shot Merle a side-eye and sighed, shaking her head. Before Daryl could open his mouth - or change his mind - she suggested, "Can I buy you a drink? I know you just came out but if you wanna go back in, I'll buy you a beer and answer any and every question you can think of. I'll prove to you that I'm not lying _or_ smokin' dope."

She didn't want to mention the fire again like Merle instructed. It was too touchy of a subject and she knew it would make Daryl recoil defensively. She went with her own gut instinct, which was to coax Daryl into a place where he felt comfortable and sweeten the deal by offering to treat him on her dime. Maybe if he felt at ease with his surroundings and a little buzzed, he'd be more willing to listen and take her seriously.

He appeared to be indecisive, still looking at her with obvious suspicion. So she added, "If you still don't believe me, or if you jus' decide that you don't wanna help, I'll leave you alone forever. I promise."

"Don't tell 'im that!" Merle snapped. "He _has_ to help me!"

She turned her head and hissed, "No, he _doesn't_. Neither do I."

"Bullshit! I'm his brother, I practically raised 'im! He fuckin' _owes_ me!"

"What's he sayin'?"

Beth looked back to Daryl in surprise, her heart dropping when she realized he'd witnessed her talking to thin air. She swallowed hard and blushed.

"I, uh - he's saying you _have_ to help him. He said he's your brother and he practically raised you and - and you _owe_ him."

He quirked an eyebrow curiously.

She sighed in exasperation and rolled her eyes before adding, "It's the same thing he's been sayin' fer the past two days." She couldn't even try to hide her irritation at this point.

To her shock and slight dismay, Daryl smirked. Though it quickly faded and he went back to scowling, straightening his back in defiance. Then he muttered, "Sounds like some shit he'd say."

"Yeah, 'cause ya _know_ you fuckin' owe me, Darylina," Merle quipped.

Beth kept her eyes locked on Daryl's and told him, "He says that's because you _know_ you owe him. And he keeps calling you 'Darylina.' Is that supposed to be an insult to you, or…?"

"Jesus Christ," Daryl mumbled quietly, a deep crease forming in his brow and a look of disbelief crossing his face.

She sighed with resignation and tried to tune out Merle's indignant sputtering and cursing.

"So - how about that beer?"

Daryl chewed on his lower lip indecisively for a moment.

"Swear you ain't tryin'a trick me?"

"Trick you into what? I don't _want_ anything from you except your help."

"Yeah, whatever. _Swear_ it. Swear it on yer mama's grave."

Beth froze and her breath hitched._ Thank God for small towns,_ she thought sadly.

But she responded without missing a beat, "I swear… on my mama's grave."

He stroked the hairs on his chin and gazed at her skeptically. Finally, he conceded.

"Fine. But you ain't gettin' no money outta me. And it's gonna be more'an just _one_ beer."

**to be continued...**

* * *

**A/N: **Subscribe to me on AO3 so you can read the updates as soon as they're posted instead of days/weeks/months later! :)


	8. A Little Patricide Never Killed Anybody

**A Little Patricide Never Killed Anybody**

Beth and Daryl sat in the corner of the bar, at a small table situated next to the big glass window near the front door. They uneasily stared across the table at each other. Merle posted up behind her, leaning his back against the wall and crossing his arms over his chest. He didn't seem at all pleased with the circumstances, though he remained silent for the most part (thankfully), and clearly he understood that there weren't many options available so it was best to just stand back and help where he could. She also knew that he was eager to answer whatever questions it might take in order to bring his little brother over to their cause, so he would be more cooperative than usual. For now.

It was yet another time where Beth was glad he was dead and lacked the power to intervene. Otherwise he would've messed this whole thing up already. Though admittedly, his snide remarks and obscene comments were rarely resourceful in any way. She was learning to wade through his bullshit and pick out the important parts of what he said in order to get to the point. Sometimes he actually had something useful to say, but he always found a way to word it that made her want to ignore him entirely.

The more she learned about tolerating Merle, the more she empathized with Daryl; this guy had been dealing with an ignorant asshole of a big brother all his life, it was no wonder he was rough around the edges and full of distrust. She just needed to figure out how to work around those little flaws while taking his point-of-view into consideration.

They sat in awkward silence for several minutes. He ordered a beer and she ordered a water. She handed over her ID and debit card while he hunched in his seat and stroked the graying hairs of his goatee. Merle was chuckling softly behind her and mumbling something that she didn't want to hear. She tuned him out for the moment and forced a stiff smile, locking eyes with the last living Dixon. She was waiting for him to speak but he just kept chewing on the inside of his cheek and eyeing her suspiciously. To the point that her nerves were on end and every muscle in her body was tense. She glanced away every few seconds and worried her lower lip, picking at her fingernails under the table.

Was he going to start asking questions or _what_?

"Jesus, this is hard t'watch," Merle muttered, clicking his tongue and chuckling coldly. "Fuckin' _say_ something already. Break the goddamn ice, blondie. Ain't that difficult."

She bit back a retort and kept her eyes on Daryl. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and then the waitress reappeared to deliver their drinks. Once he had a full mug of cold beer before him, he seemed to relax a bit. His hand finally left his chin to wrap around the damp glass and grasp tightly.

Nervously, she reached out and wrapped both hands around her water glass before lifting it and bringing it up to her lips to sip tentatively. She ended up gulping down half the glass in one go, setting it down and letting out a breath of relief. She hadn't realized her mouth was so goddamn dry.

Daryl smirked and leaned back in his chair. He took a long swig of beer and licked his lips afterward. Every second of silence made Beth feel more self conscious. She tried to still her racing heart while maintaining eye contact across the table. His fingers wrapped tighter around the glass as he set it back down. His azure eyes were narrowed and focused completely on her.

She wanted to believe that he could see right through her, yet he was totally ignorant of Merle's presence. So maybe he couldn't see so much after all. Maybe he was just looking for a reason to call her a liar.

"Um, so d'you wanna start with your… questions?" She asked uncertainly. Her voice came out weaker and higher-pitched than she intended.

Daryl leaned forward and rested his elbows atop the table, his eyes still unflinchingly locked on her. "Yeah, here's my firs' one: what're you tryin'a get outta this?"

Beth frowned, stricken silent for a moment. Then she shook her head and replied, "Nothing. I don't _want_ anything from you. I wouldn't have even bothered you if Merle weren't so insistent."

Merle scoffed from behind her and grumbled under his breath.

"_Uh-huh_," Daryl grunted. "So he jus' _made_ you come an' talk ta me and you had no say in the matter. Even though he's _dead_."

She sighed. "Yeah. I know it sounds like total bullshit, but I couldn't make this up if I _tried_. Trust me. He might be dead, but he can still… _do_ _things_. My dad isn't in the best health and his heart isn't the strongest anymore. If Merle really wanted to, he could like… _haunt_ us."

"What, like a poltergeist or summin'?"

"Yeah, exactly like a poltergeist. He got really upset and broke a mirror in my bedroom last night. I tried to ignore him but if he gets mad enough, he can… lash out. And my daddy's an old-fashioned God-fearing man. He might be able ta brush the weird stuff off for a while but eventually, he wouldn't be able to handle it."

"Right, right. Makes sense," Daryl mumbled, though his tone was laced with sarcasm. "I mean, it's only logical."

Beth shook her head and took another swig of water, a tireless effort to dampen the cotton inside her mouth. She gazed across the table with a stern and foreboding expression, trying her hardest to express just how serious the situation was. But how could she turn a skeptic into a believer with one conversation?

Merle remained silent behind her, though she could hear the snickers and quiet mumblings of amusement. She was the one in charge for the time being and she intended to take full advantage of that fact. He could go ahead and keep his mouth shut until she needed him to talk. Step one meant convincing Daryl that she wasn't a junkie or a schizo or a liar, which meant telling him everything she knew and letting him decide if some random woman would really make it all up for no discernible reason other than to get his attention.

"He literally _told_ me he'd haunt my dad to _death_ if I didn't help him," Beth said. "Why would I make that up?"

A crease formed in Daryl's brow but he quickly replied, "I'ono. Some kinda long con. Couldn't tell ya why anybody does the shit they do. Never made any sense to me, still doesn't."

She sighed. "Seems like kind of a _weird_ thing ta lie about, don'tcha think?"

He shrugged and took a swig of beer. "Yeah. People are weird."

"Right, well," she said with exasperation, raising her eyebrows and looking down at the glass of water. She spoke with resignation, letting all the words that she wished she could've said to nearly every person she'd come into contact with throughout the day pour from her mouth: "I have better things ta do, ya know. But here I am. I spent all day driving around Atlanta an' talking to every religious person I could find. _None_ of them could hear him, most of 'em told me that he's just a demon in disguise. I talked to a psychic and all she did was take forty bucks an' give me some stupid spiel about God and Satan being brothers - she couldn't hear Merle either, not even when he was _screaming_ in her ear. And then some kid stopped me in front of the psychic's shop an' gave me a weird map and… told me ta find you."

At that, she glanced up and met Daryl's curious gaze.

"Told ya to find _me_?" He repeated skeptically. "What - by name?"

She shook her head, frowning. "No. But I think he could see Merle. He said somethin' about a Swamp Witch 'foreseeing' my visit. But he said it has to be a pair of _living_ visitors. So I can't go alone."

"Ah, _there_ it is," Daryl smirked and leaned back in his chair, narrowing his eyes at her knowingly. "So yer tryin'a get me to a second location. Want me ta go somewhere unfamiliar with ya. Fer what? So you can _rob_ me? 'S there somebody waitin' ta jump me or somethin'?"

Beth gave him an incredulous look. "_What_? No, I - "

"Yer really fuckin' this one up, sweetcheeks," Merle mumbled from behind her. She could feel her face turning bright red.

"Yeah, whatever this is, I ain't fallin' for it," Daryl said.

She huffed out a breath and shook her head. "This isn't about _any_ of that. I don't _know_ you, I didn't know your brother, I don't have any ill intentions. I'm just as confused as you are, I promise. Maybe more so."

He furrowed his brow and grunted, taking a leisurely sip of beer before speaking again. "Well I ain't fuckin' goin' nowhere with you. How 'bout that? You can sit here an' buy me beer after beer and I still ain't goin' nowhere 'cept back home. So ya might as well save yer breath."

"That's fine," she insisted. "I already knew I couldn't make you do anything you didn't wanna do and I had a pretty good idea of how hard it would be to convince you. From the way Merle talked, all you Dixons are the same: stubborn and bullheaded an' too damn scared of change to _do_ anything with yourselves, too pissed off at the world ta trust anybody that isn't your blood."

Daryl blinked and pursed his lips. His face had gone pale.

"An' I'm startin' to think he was _right_," she went on. "But that doesn't mean you can't still hear me out and decide for yerself if there's any questions you want _answers_ to… while you still have the chance."

"The hell kinda questions you think I could have?" He growled, sneering across the table at her with his hand wrapped tightly around his beer. "My whole family's dead - dead an' gone. There _is_ no chance I still got. That's it. End of story. Ain't nothin' after death 'cept a cold box in the ground. Or a pretty ceramic urn. I don't wanna know shit else past what I already knew my whole goddamn life."

Beth reflexively wanted to argue but Merle's voice stopped her before she could even start.

"How 'bout that life insurance plan that Pa took out 'fore the fire? You was askin' me 'bout that shit damn near every time we got blackout drunk."

She whipped her head around in surprise and looked up at Merle. She didn't care that Daryl was watching her. She said, "He probably doesn't even remember asking you about it."

"Oh, he does," Merle sucked his teeth knowingly. "A drunk mouth speaks a sober mind, blondie. Ain't yer lush of a daddy ever told ya that?"

She looked back over at Daryl to find him staring at her quizzically. She cleared her throat awkwardly.

He asked, disgruntled, "Yer really seein' an' talkin' ta somebody that ain't there, huh? Maybe you need some psychiatric help, girl."

Beth almost laughed. "If only it were that simple." Then she paused and picked at her fingernails, struggling to meet his eyes as she said, "He said that every time you guys got blackout drunk, you would ask him about the life insurance plan that your dad took out right before the fire…"

Daryl's brow furrowed and something passed over his face that she didn't recognize. She could see his fingers tightening around the mug in his hand while his jaw clenched at the same time. He narrowed his eyes.

"Everybody knows my piece a shit pa got lucky with the insurance payout," he growled. "That ain't a question I've ever had."

"Yeah," Merle said, his voice flat and cold and full of resentment. "An' everybody also knows ol' Will Dixon wasn't ever the type ta put money into insurance. Fucker never even insured his _truck_. Why the hell would he pay fer such a fat plan on somebody that wasn't no more'an a punching bag?"

Beth lifted her eyebrows and prodded gently, "Merle says your dad never even had insurance on his truck, so why would he pay for such a big insurance plan on his wife?"

"An' only six months 'fore the fire that killed 'er? Sure, Darylina, tell yerself whatever you gotta to sleep at night. But you an' I both know that was the biggest load a horseshit Pa ever fed us."

"And he said it was only six months before the fire that… killed her. And that you know just as well as he does that your dad was full of crap," she repeated. She kept her gaze locked on Daryl's, watching the range of emotions cross his face and brighten his blue eyes.

It was almost painful to watch: the mixture of realization and confusion that brewed in his expression, the complete discontent and the way he was obviously questioning everything he'd ever known inside his head. Yet she couldn't help but feel hopeful. He was _listening_. She was getting through to him - thanks to Merle.

(That was something she definitely never thought she'd say.)

Then the rage appeared and Daryl growled through clenched teeth, "You think you fuckin' know my family? You better watch yer goddamn mouth, _princess_. I'ono where yer gettin' this shit, but - "

"From _Merle_," she cut him off, insistent. "I'm not telling you anything except what Merle is saying. Obviously he knows something you don't, so maybe you should _listen_."

He scowled. "I ain't listenin' ta these fuckin' lies yer spoutin' off. You ain't gonna convince me a shit by usin' the easiest thing there is ta get my attention. I'm not a fuckin' idiot." He took an angry swig of beer.

"I don't _think_ you're an idiot, Daryl," Beth said.

"Nah, he's an idiot," Merle quipped. "'S alright. Dropped him on 'is head a few times when 'e was a baby. Prob'ly explains part of it. My bad." He chuckled coldly.

"You wanna come in here, start talkin' ta me 'bout my dead brother an' tellin' me that my mama's death was somethin' more'an it was," Daryl said. "Sounds like a pathetic fuckin' persuasion tactic to me. An' it ain't workin'."

"Jesus Christ," Merle sighed. "Alrigh', I guess you was right, blondie. Maybe this won't be as easy as I thought. Didn't realize my baby brother was such a stubborn li'l peckerhead."

Beth might've relished in the fact that Merle had admitted she was right but she had no desire for that at the moment. She felt like she was losing her last chance and she simply couldn't allow that to happen.

She glanced back at Merle and asked expectantly, "Well - any more suggestions?"

"Yeah, here's one," Daryl quipped. "You fuck off back home an' don't ever bother me again."

Beth shot him a glare and snapped, "I wasn't talking to _you_."

He scoffed and took a long swig of beer with a look of indignation on his face. And Merle sighed deeply, all the arrogance disappearing from his tone.

"Shit," he muttered, beginning to sound defeated. "Just… alrigh', blondie. No questions. You just repeat what I tell ya. Got it?"

She rolled her eyes but nodded. "Sure, whatever."

"Sure what?" Daryl asked.

"Merle has something he wants me to tell you - I'm not supposed to ask questions. Just repeat it," she explained.

Daryl quirked a brow and frowned but remained silent.

"I, uh…" Merle hesitated and he sounded more unsure than she'd ever heard him. His voice lowered and he said, "Pa killed 'er. He put somethin' in her drinks that night to make her sleep hard an' once she passed out, he set the fire. Made it look like it was her own fault... You wasn't supposed ta make it outta there neither. Pa had the whole goddamn thing planned out."

Beth opened her mouth to speak but the words froze and caught in her throat. The realization of what Merle was saying hit her like a ton of bricks. She stared across the table at Daryl, speechless.

"What?" Daryl finally asked after a long and tense silence, Beth's lips still parted but unable to speak. "What's he tellin' you?" He could see the distraught look on her face.

Tears began to pool in her eyes and her stomach was in painful knots. She kept picturing an 8-year-old Daryl, small and innocent and defenseless and attached to his mama's hip, and the absolute monster of a father that had created him and tried to destroy him all the same. A _child_, for God's sake.

She swallowed hard and a tear escaped to roll down her cheek. Her voice came out weak and pitiful. "I… I don't wanna say it."

Merle piped up behind her, "You _have_ to! Tell 'im! Tell 'im the truth, Beth. 'Cause I got a whole lot fuckin' more where _that_ came from."

There was a long pause, like a beat full of tension that seemed to go on forever. Then Daryl's scowl deepened and Beth tried to prepare herself - tried to work out in her head how she could possibly drop such a bomb on a man she literally just met.

"Just fuckin' say it," Daryl said impatiently. "Not like I'm gonna believe ya anyway."

"He says that, but once 'e hears it, 'sgonna be a whole different story," Merle muttered.

Beth swallowed past a knot in her throat and wiped away the teardrop that had rolled down her cheek. She hesitated, Daryl glaring at her the whole time.

"He said…" She paused, taking a deep calming breath and clearing her throat in order to speak clearly. "He said your dad gave your mom something to make her sleep really hard that night. And then he set the fire and... made it look like her own fault."

Daryl's face fell and the disbelief in his eyes was no longer doubtful of her words - it was more like he was beginning to question everything he'd been told throughout his life. Or maybe like the things she was saying were filling his empty spots a little _too_ well. He leaned forward a bit, lips parted and brow furrowed.

"Merle - he said," she went on, hesitating once more but forcing herself to push the words out. "Um… you were supposed to be there. Your dad… wanted you to die in that fire, too. He had it all planned out." By the time she finished, her voice was no more than a shaky whisper. Her chest ached with a loss that was not her own.

All the color had drained from Daryl's face and he stared across the table at her, dumbfounded. But something was darkening in his azure eyes and his shoulders were tensing, nostrils flaring. He glanced over toward the spot where Beth had been looking when she'd talked to Merle, as if he might catch a glimpse of the dead Dixon brother. Then he pursed his lips and huffed out an angry sigh through his nose.

Before Beth could comprehend what was happening, Daryl shoved his chair back and stood up, nearly knocking the table over in his haste. His anger was so palpable that it radiated off of him in waves - much like Merle's had the night before.

"I gotta take a piss," he grumbled before stomping off toward the bathroom.

She didn't turn her head to watch him go. Her hands were trembling and she was fighting back more tears. She wasn't sure what she'd just done by relaying this information to him but she could sense that it wasn't good. She could only hope it hadn't screwed everything up.

"See? Told ya that'd get through to 'im," Merle commented, suddenly appearing in Daryl's empty chair across the table.

Beth frowned and gave him a look of doubt. "I think we just pissed him off. He's probably gonna leave and never talk to me again."

Merle waved a hand dismissively, though he didn't appear nearly as confident as usual and she definitely noticed. "Yeah, yeah. He'll throw 'is little bitchfit an' then he'll cool down an' come beggin' fer more answers. He's been like that fer as long as he's been able ta talk. Always throwin' tantrums. I _told_ ya he's sensitive."

"I just told him that his dad _murdered_ his mom and tried to murder him, too," Beth said indignantly. "I'd be throwin' a tantrum too if some random stranger told me something like that. You couldn't have at least given me a heads up?"

Merle shrugged, leaning back in the chair and crossing his arms over his chest. "No. 'S between me an' him. Ain't yer problem, princess."

"Except you've kinda _made_ it my problem," she snapped. "None of this is between you two anymore - I'm stuck in the middle here."

He rolled his eyes. "Ever heard a 'don't shoot the messenger?'"

"Yeah well, you might wanna tell your brother that. 'Cause right now, I'm pretty sure he wants ta wring my neck. He probably thinks I'm making it all up."

"How _could_ you make this shit up?"

"That's what _I_ said. But he's just as frickin' stubborn as _you_ are."

Merle chuckled and grinned proudly. "'Course 'e is. He's a _Dixon_, sweetheart."

She squeezed her eyes shut and sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration. She hunched over the table and tried to piece everything together in her head. Without looking up, she asked, "What else are you gonna tell 'im? This would go a lot smoother if I could be prepared for the next traumatizing bomb yer gonna have me drop on him."

"Don't worry about it. You jus' repeat what I tell ya an' try not to let those _female emotions _fuck it up too much."

She was about to argue but then Merle disappeared and reappeared behind her. "Here 'e comes. An' he still looks pissy so ya best prepare yerself, blondie."

_It'd be a lot easier if you'd help prepare me, asshole,_ she thought, biting her tongue and sitting up straight.

Sure enough, Daryl whisked past her and reclaimed his seat across the table. He was still tense and scowling, and he immediately grabbed his beer and chugged the remaining liquid before slamming it down on the table and belching loudly. Beth scrunched her nose in disgust but didn't say anything. She watched him, trying to interpret his body language and gauge his level of rage. The fury seemed to have subsided for the time being, but she could tell that he was teetering on the brink of lashing out.

He waved over a waitress and ordered another beer, still not speaking to Beth. Then he pulled out a pack of cigarettes from the inside pocket of his vest and shook one out into his open palm. She couldn't help but notice how his motions so vividly mirrored Merle's. He lit up and took a long drag, holding it in. And when he exhaled a cloud of smoke, he leaned forward and rested his elbows atop the table, narrowed eyes locked on hers while the cigarette burned between his fingers. She tried to still her racing heart but it was useless. His gaze was so intense that she thought she might crumble beneath it.

"So what the hell else did this asshole keep from me?" He asked, his voice low and gruff.

"I - I'm not sure. He says it's between you two and no one else," she answered meekly.

He grunted and took another drag from his cigarette.

"How 'bout this," Merle piped up. "They never caught the guy who opened Pa's throat. Ain't that somethin'? All those suspects they wasted time arresting an' the guy who actually did it wasn't even _questioned_."

Beth furrowed her brow in confusion and glanced back at Merle. "So you know who did it and Daryl doesn't?"

"Alrigh', this is fuckin' weird," Daryl cut in. She turned her head to look over at him again and he said, "You really expect me to believe yer sittin' there gettin' all this shit from the _ghost_ of my dumbass dead brother?"

"Hey, I ain't no dumbass!" Merle cried defensively.

"No, I don't _expect_ you to believe it," she assured Daryl, ignoring his brother behind her. "But if there's anything I've learned about Merle, it's that he won't shut up until I do what he wants. Or at least till I _try_."

"Well ya look like a fuckin' psycho talkin' ta somebody that ain't there - an' talkin' _about_ _me_ like 'mnot sittin' right here."

"I _know_ how crazy I look, but I can't help it. Sometimes I have to ask him what the hell he means. He gets a kick out of irritating me - and _humiliating_ me. 'S like some kinda _sick game_."

Merle chuckled at that and she shook her head, glancing back at him and glaring scornfully.

Daryl _hmph_ed and ashed his cigarette, mumbling something that sounded like, "Yeah, that's Merle for ya..."

Beth gave Merle an expectant look, urging him to go on and explain himself despite the interruption.

He coughed and shrugged nonchalantly, averting his gaze away from hers. "Yeah, 'course I know who killed Pa," he explained. "But Daryl don't. So who's the dumbass now?"

She sighed and turned back to face Daryl. She was hesitant in relaying this new information, completely unsure of where it could be leading. She didn't really want to piss Daryl off any more and end up causing some kind of scene. But she didn't have a choice. Besides, if this was her chance to prove that she wasn't just some lunatic talking to an imaginary friend, she had to take advantage.

His new beer arrived and she waited until the waitress had walked away and he'd taken a hearty drink. Then Beth spoke: "He said they never caught the guy who killed your dad. And he says it's weird because, out of all the people they arrested, they never questioned the guy who actually did it."

Daryl's mouth fell open and he appeared a bit dumbfounded. "So Merle knew who it was, huh?" He scowled. "An' how the hell would _he_ know?"

She glanced back at Merle uneasily and saw that he was staring down at his boots thoughtfully. Then he raised his head and flashed her a cocky smirk, and as she turned her head to meet Daryl's gaze again, Merle told her what to say:

"_I_ killed that fuckin' asshole. I used his favorite hunting knife an' I cut his fuckin' throat wide open - oh boy, did he _squeal_. Died like the little bitch he was. Useless fucker got blood all over m'good boots, ruined 'em - but I'd've done it a second time, if I could've. Felt fuckin' good ta give 'im what he had comin'. Hell, I'd kill that piece'a shit a _thousand_ times over if I could!"

He let out a long, cold laugh full of satisfaction and arrogance. A chill ran down Beth's spine and she could feel the blood draining from her face. Daryl's expression grew more confused at the sight of her reaction.

"You gotta be shittin' me," she breathed out - directed more towards Merle than anyone else.

"What? Spit it out," Daryl demanded impatiently.

She sighed and closed her eyes for a moment, licking her lips and trying to gather the words in her head. Then she locked eyes with Daryl and repeated what Merle had said as plainly as she could manage:

"Merle killed him. He cut your dad's throat and watched him die… And he-he says he'd do it a thousand times over if he could."

She braced herself for another furious outburst. But it never came. Daryl blinked in astonishment as the cigarette between his fingers burned and the smoke curled up and around his face.

Then he smirked.

Merle started laughing menacingly behind her. "Tell 'im I took that ugly ass statue, too. _And_ all the crystal."

She repeated uncertainly, "He - he said he took that 'ugly statue,' too. And all the 'crystal.'"

Something lit up in Daryl's eyes at that statement. It sent a burst of hope through her chest.

Could it really be… was he _believing_ her?

**to be continued...**


	9. Boots and Ghosts and Turnips, Oh My!

**Boots and Ghosts and Turnips, Oh My!**

"Ya didn't mention the boots," Merle chimed.

Beth furrowed her brow but didn't glance back and ask what he meant. Instead she added, "He said, um… when he killed your dad - "

"Y'mean when 'e slit Pa's throat from ear ta ear?" Daryl interrupted. His smirk faded along with the spark in his eyes. His voice was flat and emotionless and his stare was unwavering, set on her so hard that she felt like she was shrinking in her seat.

But Merle was cackling behind her, joyfully declaring, "Yeah! _Shit_ yeah, I did!"

She nodded hesitantly, swallowing hard and struggling to keep her eyes locked on Daryl's expectant gaze. "Yeah… when he did _that_. He said the blood got all over his 'good' boots and ruined them." She felt sick with every word that left her mouth and she wasn't even sure why it mattered. Why would Merle want her to repeat that part specifically?

Then Daryl's brow creased and he began to worry his lower lip, trepidation appearing on his face as he registered her statement. His grasp on the beer mug tightened. Merle went quiet. Beth sat tensed and waiting, trying to figure out how a pair of boots had anything to do with the situation at hand.

It felt like an eternity but it couldn't have been more than a solid minute. Daryl finally nodded his head and glanced toward Merle's general direction.

Then he spoke plainly through an audible veil of doubt, "So what'd ya do with 'em, asshole?"

Without missing a beat, Merle quipped back, "Burned 'em, dipshit. Tried ta clean 'em but it didn't work. Took three weeks jus' ta get the stains outta my favorite jacket."

Beth cleared her throat and tried to still her trembling hands. She repeated Merle's words and clung to them like an anchor as she gauged Daryl's reaction. "He said he tried to clean 'em but he ended up having to burn them. And it took three weeks to get the stains out of his favorite jacket."

Daryl grunted and his eyes kept flicking between her and the general area where Merle was standing. Then the living Dixon grunted and quickly asked, "That ugly-ass tan one that ya ripped the sleeves off'a?"

Merle laughed and responded, "Yeah, that one. Had it in the washer a couple days 'fore I died."

"Yeah," Beth repeated, confidence building within her. "He said he had it in the washer a couple of days before he died."

Daryl scowled and said, "It was still in there. All covered in mold. I threw it out."

"Goddammit," Merle grumbled angrily. "I wanted ta be buried in that thing."

Beth couldn't help but let out a snort of laughter, which she quickly covered with a cough and a hand over her mouth. She shook her head and told Daryl, "He seems pretty disappointed - says he wanted to be buried in it."

Daryl laughed humorlessly and snubbed out his burnt-down cigarette pointedly. "Yeah well - too little, too late. Had 'im cremated."

"_What_?!"

Beth was more discreet about her shock. She raised her eyebrows and gave Daryl a curious, wide-eyed stare. "Oh - cremated? Really?"

Daryl nodded. "Yeah. Too damn expensive ta bury 'im. An' the morgue charged daily," he explained matter-of-factly. "Damn near drained my bank account."

"Oh, I see how it is - so they called it a suicide an' burned me up 'cause this li'l shithead couldn't foot the bill. Jus' closed the whole goddamn book on Merle Dixon 'cause the next of kin is a _cheap asshole_," Merle said scornfully. He scoffed and yelled out angrily, "You fuckin' selfish _prick_! After everythin' I _did_ fer you…!"

Beth frowned but did her best to tune him out. It would be no use telling Daryl how angry his dead brother was. And she didn't need any more reasons for him to be suspicious or think that she had ulterior motives.

Thankfully, before Merle could fill her ear with any more furious ramblings, Daryl asked, "So where is it?"

She froze and studied his face. Merle went silent behind her.

"Where's what?" She asked quietly.

He shrugged nonchalantly and his gaze drifted over toward Merle's general direction once again. "Pa's statue."

She whipped her head around to look at Merle expectantly. He had a smug smirk on his face and his back straightened proudly as he answered, "I hid it. Put it somewhere I knew that fucker'd never find it."

She turned back to see Daryl watching her curiously and repeated, "He said he hid it somewhere that your dad would never find it."

"_Huh_," Daryl grunted, taking a swig of beer and slamming the mug down decisively atop the table. "Well ain't that convenient."

Beth glared at him with livid indignation. "For _who_?"

"Fer _you_," he growled. "Still tryin'a get me ta go somewhere else."

She rolled her eyes and heaved an exasperated sigh. Merle groaned behind her.

"Jesus fuck, he's more stubborn'an ever without me around," the dead Dixon grumbled.

"Yer tellin' me," she agreed. Daryl eyed her like she'd grown a second head but she couldn't have said she cared at this point.

"Le's go find it then," Merle suggested. "Tell 'im he can drive, I'll give the directions - "

"He'll just think we're takin' him to get _jumped_," she mumbled resentfully.

"Goddammit."

"Can you stop that shit?" Daryl snapped, scowling. "Ain't fuckin' convincin' me by pretending ta talk to somebody that ain't there."

Beth was at her wit's end. She sighed loudly and sat up, grasping the edge of the table and standing to her feet. "Whatever, dude. Look - I'm not here because I think it's _fun_. As much of a _pleasure_ as it's been to meet y'all - I don't _want_ anything from you. I knew you wouldn't believe me but Merle wouldn't listen so here I am, makin' a damn _fool_ outta myself for nothing. So I'm gonna leave and how 'bout we just pretend this never happened - "

"The _shit_?! Ya can't quit on me now, blondie!" Merle cried out.

She turned and shot him a death glare over her shoulder. "There's no _point_. We're going in circles. He's never gonna believe me."

"Show 'im the map!"

"To what? To the place he thinks he's gonna be _ambushed_?"

"What the fuck are you talkin' about?" Daryl cut in, and Beth whipped her head around to face him once more.

She shook her head and stepped away from the table, checking that she had her phone and purse. "Nothing. I'm _crazy_. Okay? Yer right. I'm just another one a those _really elaborate_ con-artists. An' I have this stupid frickin' map and it's useless anyway so - ya know what, if Merle thinks you should see it, then by all means."

She unzipped the front pocket of her small purse and yanked out the folded-up map, chucking it down on the tabletop. Then she _hmph_ed emphatically and spun on her heel to walk away.

She ignored Merle's cries of outrage and loud curses. She kept her eyes on the front door, eager to escape the suffocating confines of the bar. And Daryl's scrutinizing, shrinking glare. Merle would follow after her eventually. He always did.

But this time, he didn't. As she stepped out into the cool evening air and the door fell shut behind her, he remained with Daryl, where she could clearly hear his voice rising higher and higher with anger until he was downright screaming in fury. There was a lot of "fucking useless bitch" and "goddamn ungrateful asshole of a brother" and "I ain't beggin' nobody and I ain't _fucking leaving_ till somebody _LISTENS_ ta me!"

But she simply shut her eyes and took in a deep, calming breath. Then she willed herself to take a step forward and begin heading toward the truck. Maybe she'd get lucky and Merle would stay behind. She could hope.

The sound of shattering glass made her halt in her tracks and nearly jump out of her skin. She spun around to see a pile of broken glass on the sidewalk and a puddle of beer. The big plate glass window next to the front door had a gaping hole in the middle of it, huge cracks spiderwebbing their way outward and bits of glass dropping to the ground as it continued to fall apart. Beth trembled as she examined the scene before her, mere feet from where she'd been standing just a moment ago. Then she lifted her gaze and peered through the shattered window to see a few people tussling.

A loud ruckus started up from inside and she took a fearful step back, farther away from the front door. A second later, the door was opening and Daryl was being shoved out while the angry yells of a man told him to "get the fuck outta here before I make you pay fer that shit!" Daryl argued but didn't fight back, still cursing loudly as the door was slammed shut in his face.

Beth was at a loss for words and completely confused. What the hell just happened? As if on cue, Merle appeared beside her. His face was bright red and he immediately began pacing back and forth, furiously grumbling under his breath while his fists clenched at his sides.

"The fuck did you _do_?!" Daryl cried, turning on Beth.

She blinked, dumbfounded. Her lips parted but no sound came out. She glanced over at Merle but he was ignoring her, incoherently cursing Daryl and stalking back and forth beside her.

Daryl gestured to the mess of broken glass behind him and the shattered window, face scrunched up and nearly as red as Merle's. He shouted at her, "I _know_ you fuckin' did somethin' ta my goddamn beer! You jus' got me kicked outta my favorite fucking bar! What the hell'd you do? _Huh_?!"

Beth couldn't wipe the stupid look off her face. She stared up at Daryl cluelessly and asked, "What are you _talking_ about? What the hell happened?!"

"Don't play dumb with me, li'l girl," Daryl growled, pointing an accusatory finger at her. "I _know_ you did somethin'. That mug flew outta my goddamn hand and straight through that fuckin' window - I didn't even lift a _finger_!"

She blinked again and glanced over at Merle. He stopped pacing and met her gaze with a stone cold glare.

"I did it. You _know_ I did it, Beth - tell 'im. Make sure he _knows_ what I'm fuckin' capable of," he growled menacingly. His yellow-tinted teeth clenched and he added, "I ain't playin' these _fucking games_ no more."

A chill ran through her and she looked back to Daryl hesitantly. The fear must've been evident on her face because his features softened, though he was still furious and his whole body was tensed in anticipation, poised like he was ready to fight.

"It was Merle," she said plainly, trying her hardest to keep her voice from sounding shaky. "He's right next to me. He says he wants you to know what he's capable of."

Daryl's eyes narrowed and he scowled. She saw his hands clenching into tight fists at his side, his shoulders going stiff.

"I _swear_, Daryl. I'm not makin' this up and there's no way I could've made that happen," she insisted, pushing all of her remaining confidence into her words. "I swear it on my mama's grave."

He slashed an arm through the air angrily. "Bullshit! This is all a crock a fuckin' shit an' I ain't fallin' for it. You think you can use my dead brother against me ta get whatever it is you want from me? Nah. Ain't happenin'. You leave me the hell alone - I _mean_ it."

Before she could argue, he spun around and stomped off toward his bike.

"Fucking _stop_ him! This is our last chance! He's got no idea how serious this shit is, you gotta make 'im see it already!" Merle yelled, gesturing desperately to Beth. "Fucking _do_ something!"

But Daryl was climbing onto his bike and starting it up and the sound was deafening, rumbling loudly in her ears until she could no longer hear Merle's cries of outrage. Then the living Dixon sped off, spitting up gravel and dirt behind him. And just like that, he'd driven off and disappeared down the road.

Beth stood frozen for a long moment, Merle's continued cursing falling on deaf ears. Finally, she sighed and slumped her shoulders in defeat. She turned around and began walking back to the truck, shaking her head and massaging her left temple with a fingertip.

There was simply no way to convince a non-believer like Daryl. No matter how much evidence she gave him. If he didn't want to help her, there was no way she could ever _make_ him help.

And as terrifying as the realization was, it was beginning to look like she might be stuck with Merle forever.

* * *

Merle refused to get back into the truck and leave, crossing his arms and stamping his feet like an insolent toddler. But once he realized Beth was pulling away from the bar and driving off with or without him, he appeared in the passenger seat and rode along with her.

He ranted and raved the whole way, cursing her and his brother all the same. After a few miles, Beth cranked up the radio and tried to tune him out. But he was like a broken record. The throbbing inside her skull was returning with a vengeance and she was eager to get home and hide away in her bedroom, even if it meant shoving in some earbuds and cranking up her music until Merle's voice was no more than muffled background noise. She had nothing to say to him and no desire to argue - she didn't have the _energy_ to argue. There was nothing to dispute. Daryl Dixon was an even bigger stubborn asshole than his brother and there was no way Beth could convince him that she wasn't completely out of her mind. So why waste the time talking to a brick wall when she could put that effort into exploring other options?

Though what _other_ options were left, she was not sure. But she wasn't going to give up that easily. There had to be _some_ other way. There just had to be.

No way in hell would she sit by and watch some deranged redneck haunt her family.

She drove in the late evening moonlight down dark dirt roads and past wide open fields full of shadows, bright headlights the only beacon amongst gravel and overgrown weeds. Merle smoked out the window and kept grumbling angrily, his voice rising every now and then and his arm slashing through the air much like his brother's had in front of the bar. Beth was lost in her own head, though. She was navigating on autopilot, heading out to an area that always calmed her, desperate for a moment of solace to gather her thoughts.

Like the peace of the woods where she often liked to retreat, the wide open field that she drove into and parked was another place of escape. It sat atop a large hill that looked down upon endless miles of green Georgia landscape. She was surrounded by acres and acres of absolutely nothing but nature. It was one of the few escapes she had - somewhere she could go where her family couldn't bother her and she could sit and think without looking around and feeling trapped. And even though Merle was with her, not even he could ruin this place for her.

Though he undoubtedly tried. As she stepped away from the truck and sat down in the dying grass to look out at the view, she could still hear his crass comments. He wound up leaning against the grill of the truck, smoking a cigarette with a smug smirk on his face. She could feel his eyes on her back but ignored them.

She needed to sort through her thoughts. She needed to figure out what the hell she was supposed to do next. But her mind was racing and she couldn't seem to slow it down. If she were being honest, she was feeling more terrified than anything. Daryl had been her only real hope… and he didn't even believe her.

So who would?

"Oh boy," Merle muttered. "The heart, she hollers."

Beth sighed and all the exhaustion from the long day left her lungs in one loud and heavy breath. Her legs were criss-crossed in front of her and she kept her eyes on the view ahead, the rolling hills and yellow-green landscape and shedding trees. She didn't bother glancing back at him.

"I come out here to think," she said simply. "In peace and _quiet_. Maybe you could shut up for just a few solid minutes and let me do that."

She heard him sucking in a long drag from his cigarette and exhaling with a grunt. "I could. But there ain't no point in that. Time's a-tickin', princess. Daryl ain't gonna - "

"My name is _Beth_. And just _shut up_ about him already," she snapped. "He's not a part of this - we have ta figure it out on our own. 'Cause he's _not_ gonna help us."

Merle immediately became indignant. "Bullshit! That's my brother, he's _always_ gonna be a part a this! You jus' ain't tryin' hard enough 'cause ya don't give a fuck."

Beth squeezed her eyes shut and refrained from lashing out at him. It wouldn't get her anywhere so there was no point. Plus, she was sick and tired of having yelling matches with a _ghost_.

"I tried _everything_, Merle," she said through gritted teeth. "Even if he believes me, it's pretty clear he wants nothing ta do with you anymore… dead _or_ alive."

"Oh yeah? That what you think?" He laughed humorlessly. "Well you don't know _shit_. You don't know my brother, dunno how he operates. If you'd listen ta me - "

"And _what_?! Bat my eyelashes, shake my hips? What's yer next _ingenious_ suggestion - suck his dick?"

"Yeah! Exactly! Goddamn, blondie, if ya'd just listened to me in the first place - "

She finally turned her head and looked back at him with a furious glare. "That's not how this _works_, you white trash moron. I can't _seduce_ him into helpin' us."

"Ya say that but ya won't even give it a try."

"Because it's pointless! How d'you not _get_ that?!"

"'Cause there ain't no gettin' ta be _got_, ya stubborn li'l bitch! You wanna act so goddamn strong an' be all sassy - tryin'a tell _me_ what's best! - but here we are, huh? Yer ready ta give up, jus' like that - like the spoiled li'l princess I knew you was. Jus' 'cause Daryl won't fall right inta yer lap like some kinda _puppy_ dog."

She clenched her jaw and averted her gaze down to his boots, ashamed of how much his words actually stung. She'd never been the quittin' type. And she didn't want to become that now, when it could matter most.

"Well I got a newsflash for ya, sweetheart: us Dixons ain't easily convinced. We're hard-headed an' stubborn as all hell. So be it. You knew this wasn't gonna be easy. That jus' means ya gotta put in a little more _effort…_ ya feel?"

"Seems ta me like you don't know your brother as well as you _think_ you do," she said coldly. Her eyes locked onto his and she could see a brief moment of uncertainty flicker across his features.

Then his face hardened and he scowled at her. "Reckon you best not talk outta yer ass like that," he growled. "'Specially around _me_."

She brushed off his threat and said matter-of-factly, "Either he wants ta believe it or he doesn't - and he _doesn't_. Cut yer losses an' move on already." Then she went back to gazing out at the view, shoulders relaxing as the relief of telling Merle off settled within her muscles.

But it was short-lived. He scoffed and quipped back, "The losses ain't mine, sweetheart. Best you remember that 'fore ya do somethin' you end up regrettin'."

Beth rolled her eyes, unfazed by his tireless redundancy, and muttered, "Whatever. I don't _care_ anymore. Do whatever it is yer gonna do... I can't go ta that Swamp Witch by myself anymore an' even if I could, I left the map with Daryl. So unless you've got some other _brilliant_ idea as to who could possibly help solve this mess, we're fucked. It's the end of the line, _sweetheart_." She made sure to put heavy sarcastic emphasis on the last word.

He laughed obnoxiously and the sound grated on every last nerve she had left. So she added scornfully, "'S just like my dad says: you can't squeeze blood out of a turnip."

Merle's laughter faded and he scoffed. "Oh yeah? Well 's jus' like _my_ dad says: Dixons ain't turnips. Least that's what he used ta say before I opened up his throat." He cackled coldly.

She tried to tune out his words, gazing out at the usually beloved scene before her. But she felt nothing except tense and anxious. She realized her final little getaway was no longer a getaway at all because she couldn't _get the hell away _from Merle Dixon.

There was no escaping this - whatever it was. She had to face it somehow. Head on. And she couldn't give up. No matter how badly Merle made her want to.

* * *

Beth turned into the long driveway of the farmhouse with a sense of great relief, slowing as she went and preparing to park. Not even Merle's presence could diminish how utterly grateful she was to finally be home. Most of the lights inside the house were on, glowing through the windows, and the porchlight cast a bright beam across the front yard. But as soon as she saw the parked motorcycle, her breath hitched in her chest.

Merle noticed it at the same time and exclaimed gleefully, "_Oh-ho-ho_! Well would ya look at that!"

She was too dumbfounded to say anything. All she could do was park the big black Ford in its usual spot and turn off the engine, fingers going numb as she clumsily pocketed the keys and stepped out of the truck.

She was half-expecting to find someone entirely different inside her house, but deep down she knew that the bike parked outside was too recognizable. It was all too familiar since she'd watched it speed away from her less than an hour ago. _What the hell is the big idea - did he come here to tell my family that I'm crazy?_

Merle was giddy with anticipation, nearly bouncing on his heels as he urged her inside and yammered on about how he was right and how he'd known Daryl would come around no matter how stupid she'd made herself look. She ignored the snide remarks and marched into the house with a sense of dread, as well as a thousand and one questions swirling around in her head.

When she opened and stepped through the front door, she found a lit but empty entryway. Then she heard voices coming from the kitchen. She followed the sound on tingly feet with Merle tight at her side and boasting louder than ever. As she stepped into the kitchen, her eyes landed on a surprising and unsettling scene, and she froze right in front of the doorway.

Her dad was sitting at the kitchen table with Daryl, mugs of coffee set between them, and Shawn was standing at Hershel's side, smiling and listening intently to whatever it was Daryl was mumbling about. They didn't even notice Beth's presence for a solid few seconds. But when they did, all eyes turned on her. She remained petrified where she stood, at a complete loss for words. Merle cackled loudly.

What the hell was Daryl _doing_ here? And how would she _ever_ explain this to her daddy and Shawn?

**to be continued...**


	10. Riding on Motorcycles with Angry Older M

**Riding on Motorcycles with Angry Older Men**

"Bethy - you know Daryl Dixon?" Hershel asked innocently.

Beth stared back with wide eyes for a second, tripping over her words as she struggled to come up with a lie. She was supposed to have been babysitting for Rick during the last several hours, after all.

"I, uh - yeah, we met briefly at Rick's." She gave Daryl a pointed look, hoping he would interpret the desperate _please don't tell them _in her eyes.

"Well it seems you left your phone over there," Hershel explained. "Daryl here was nice enough to bring it by."

At that, Daryl reached into his pocket and pulled out the phone to hold it up for her to see. Her eyes widened and she swallowed hard, cheeks growing warmer and warmer.

"Guess he beat ya here," Shawn commented with a smirk from where he stood beside Daryl's chair. "You really do drive like a grandma, huh?"

Hershel chuckled. "C'mon now, Shawn. We both know Daryl can be a bit of a speed demon on that bike of his."

The three men shared a laugh, though Daryl's came out a bit forced. Beth smiled awkwardly and nodded, taking a precarious step forward and reaching out for her phone. She kept her eyes locked on Daryl's and he glared back with a look that said, _we've got some things to discuss_. But he handed the phone over without hesitation before taking a long sip of his coffee.

"Yeah well, I made a stop at Sonic on the way home," Beth lied. "I wanted a milkshake."

"How was it at Rick's? Did Judith give you any trouble?" Hershel asked, urging his youngest daughter to join their friendly conversation at the table. "You want some coffee? I made a fresh pot when Daryl showed up a few minutes ago."

_At least he hasn't been here very long,_ she thought thankfully. _Not long enough to do any damage. Yet._

She shook her head and responded, "No, thank you. Judith was good, I'm just tired. Um - you want me to show him out?" She raised her eyebrows and looked at Daryl meaningfully.

"Don't be rude, Beth," Shawn scolded. "He just got here."

"I'm not being _rude_, it's just gettin' late," she snapped, scowling at her big brother. "We all have ta get up early."

"Oh, it's fine, he can stay a bit longer," Hershel insisted.

"Nah, 'salright," Daryl spoke up, clearing his throat and standing from his chair. "It is gettin' late, I should be headin' out. Thanks fer the courtesy, I appreciate it. Good talkin' ta you guys." He gave a nod toward Shawn and Hershel before stepping away from the table.

"You sure?" Shawn asked.

"Oh yeah. Gotta get ta work in the mornin' anyhow, best be headin' home," Daryl assured him.

"Well it was nice catching up, Daryl. You get home safe - an' don't be a stranger now," Hershel smiled, standing and reaching out a hand. Daryl took it and gave it a firm shake then turned and did the same with Shawn, nodding and bowing out of the kitchen.

As he walked past her to leave, Beth backed up toward the wall and met his eyes. She saw the silent message on his face and gave a curt nod of understanding disguised as a nod of goodbye. Hershel and Shawn called out their last goodnights and then the sound of heavy boots echoed through the entryway until the front door audibly opened and closed.

A few minutes later, she was bidding her dad and brother goodnight and watching them retire to their bedrooms while pretending to make herself a cup of bedtime tea. Merle had stood back shockingly quiet the entire time, though she could feel the smug grin that was plastered on his face. And he kept snickering like he'd played some kind of prank.

Once she was alone and hunched over the kitchen sink, Beth muttered, "I had my phone in my purse when I left."

Merle chucked. "Yeah, ya did."

She gritted her teeth. "What did you do?"

"Slipped it outta yer purse an' put it in his pocket, _obviously_," he answered, tone laced with amusement and pride. "And it worked. Jus' like I knew it would."

She sighed and forced herself to take several deep and calming breaths. Then she decided to bite back the spiteful retort that wanted to pour from her mouth.

_Dixons ain't turnips,_ she thought. _But Daryl showed up and not just because he had my phone in his pocket. Maybe there's some blood to be found in him after all._

When the upstairs finally went silent and Beth was certain that Hershel and Shawn were tucked away for the night, she left her empty tea mug and cold water on the kitchen counter and slipped out the back door without making a sound. Then she went around the side of the house to find Daryl smoking a cigarette and waiting for her next to his bike, partially illuminated by the porchlight and the crescent moon above.

As soon as she approached, she began speaking defensively: "I dunno what yer doin' here but you _didn't_ need ta get my dad involved. I - "

He cut her off sharply, "I only came here ta drop yer damn phone off but he invited me in. I didn't even tell 'im how ya got me kicked outta my _favorite bar_."

Beth huffed angrily. "I _told_ you, I didn't do anything to your stupid beer. And I sure as hell didn't put my phone in your pocket. It was Merle. And I don't _care_ if you don't believe me because - "

"I thought about leavin' the phone _and_ the map an' goin' home 'fore you ever got here," Daryl interrupted, his voice rising in frustration. "But I _didn't_."

Beth's lips snapped shut and her eyes went wide, studying him and trying to figure out what he was getting at. Merle was standing beside her, suspiciously silent. But that smug grin was still plastered on his face.

"Why not?" She asked quietly.

Daryl shrugged and tossed his burnt-out cigarette into the grass, exhaling a cloud of smoke before answering, "I'ono. Maybe 'sall a little too _weird_ fer me to ignore. Maybe I wanna make sure you ain't gonna snap an' murder that nice ol' man ya got."

She furrowed her brow and frowned. "That's stupid. I'm not crazy and I would _never_ hurt my family - I would never hurt _anybody_."

"Yeah yeah, I know," he waved a hand dismissively. "Everybody says that. Till they don't."

She pursed her lips and swallowed back an angry retort. Then she paused and worried her lip for a second before asking, "You didn't tell 'em… _any_ of it, did you?"

He let out a grunt of amusement. "Fuck no. I ain't tryin'a get a padded cell next ta yers. Yer brother mentioned you was s'posed ta be at Rick's an' I went with it. Lucky fer you, me an' Rick's been buddies for a while."

Merle scoffed loudly at that and grumbled something under his breath but Beth ignored him.

Before she could respond or even try to thank him for covering her ass instead of making the situation worse, Daryl jerked his head towards the bike.

"C'mon."

"What?"

He pointedly grabbed a handlebar with one hand and repeated, "_C'mon_."

She glanced over at the house, up at the window that belonged to her dad's bedroom, while Merle chuckled and let out a low whistle, mumbling a very unnecessary "told ya he'd come around." She ignored him and continued focusing on Daryl. She gave him a quizzical look, feet still planted where she stood.

"What - on yer _motorcycle_?"

Daryl nodded impatiently and gestured for her to hop on. "Yeah. Le'sgo. Won't take long."

Beth almost laughed, arching an eyebrow at him. "Um - it's already dark out. And you don't even have a helmet. And why would I go with you anyway when - "

"Jus' shut up an' get on the damn bike. I sat down an' listened ta all yer shit, least you can do is come with me an' see what I got ta show ya."

She frowned and narrowed her eyes in suspicion, refusing to move. Then she crossed her arms over her chest defiantly. "What could you possibly have to show me? Merle's already told me more than I _ever_ wanted ta know."

Merle chimed in, "Oh shut the hell up, blondie. Jus' listen to the man an' get on the damn bike. A romantic li'l ride after dark won't kill ya, fer Christ's sake."

She shot Merle a scathing glare but Daryl was turning and mounting the bike so he didn't notice. He glanced back at her over his shoulder and said, "Last chance. You comin' or not?"

She hesitated despite the fact that all her muscles were urging her forward. Daryl revved the engine and it roared to life loudly, deafening in her ears but seemingly unnoticed by everyone inside the house. His hands were gripping the handlebars and his foot was poised at the kickstand, ready to take off at any second.

"He ain't gonna hurt ya," Merle insisted. "Jus' get the hell on an' see what he wants. This might be yer last chance ta get him to believe yer stupid ass."

Beth bit her lower lip and scowled at Merle, tightening her arms across her chest. Then she said, "You have to stay here. How about that?"

"_What_?! Are you outta yer damn mind?" He objected, outraged.

She merely shrugged and said, "I can't focus with you always behind me makin' smartass comments. So stay here. If you trust yer brother so much then it shouldn't be a problem… right?"

Merle wasn't happy about that and it showed on his face. He grumbled angrily under his breath and scowled but when Daryl revved the bike's engine again, he finally shook his head and slashed an arm through the air.

"Fine. Have it yer way, princess. But it ain't gonna be this easy ta get rid of me an' you best jus' keep that in mind. Got it?"

"Yeah, whatever," Beth said. She couldn't refrain from smiling widely in satisfaction.

* * *

In all honesty, Beth hadn't expected Merle to actually oblige. In fact, she'd expected him to reappear at any moment, whether it be at the side of the bike while it sped down the dirt roads or in the grassy field once they'd stopped. But he never did.

For the first time in nearly 48 hours, she was free of him. Though it was a give and take: she was free of Merle for the moment, but that meant she was with Daryl. And she still wasn't sure if he was an improvement or not. He was alive and that was the only plus side to knowing him thus far.

Riding on the back of his bike meant she had no choice but to wrap her arms around his middle and hold on tight, her front pressed uncomfortably close against his back. He didn't seem to mind, barely flinching when she linked her fingers over his belly and pressed her chest into his back. She tried not to think about how Merle had referred to it as a "romantic" ride - because this was anything _but_ romantic. Yet she still felt terribly self-conscious pressed up so tightly against a man she barely knew.

He drove way too fast for her liking and she couldn't stop clenching her jaw, clutching onto Daryl like her life depended on it. She'd never really ridden a motorcycle before so it was kind of terrifying, especially without a helmet. But he navigated the dirt roads as though he were born on a bike, speeding past wide open fields beneath the starry night sky. The only light was the moon above and the narrow beam of his headlight illuminating the path ahead. The wind whipped Beth's hair back and tangled it up in a whole new way but all she could focus on was not falling off the back of the bike.

She couldn't really guess just how far they'd driven. The outskirts of Senoia were an endless mass of greenery and dirt roads that all looked the same. Daryl had turned left here and right there and another right and another left and Beth simply couldn't focus on what direction they were driving in anymore because she was too nervous about losing her balance and tumbling over the back of the bike to her inevitable death. She prayed that Daryl was as good of a driver as he was acting - she wasn't sure he was supposed to be pressing down so hard on the accelerator or doing so much weaving. And she was _still_ desperately wishing she had a helmet.

But then they were slowing and pulling off the side of the road into a green field of grass and she realized that she hadn't fallen off or died and they hadn't even wrecked. So maybe Daryl knew what he was doing after all.

The field he parked in didn't look too terribly different from the field she'd escaped to an hour ago. Then again, once you got out to the boonies like this, pretty much everything looked the same: lots of grass and trees and untamed nature stretching out further than the eye could see. Daryl killed the engine and the sound of crickets and owls filled the air around them. Beth climbed off the back of the bike and stepped away with relief, legs still shaky from the constant vibration. She glanced around but saw nothing notable - no buildings or markers of any kind, no other vehicles anywhere in sight. The woods in the distance were completely dark and the field around them was dimly lit by the moon, though Daryl left the headlight of his bike on to give them some light.

She did a second glance around to reassure herself that Merle had really stayed behind. She couldn't even sense his presence. It suddenly felt like her shoulders were fifty pounds lighter.

"Where are we?" She asked, ears still ringing from the deafening engine.

"Merle's place," Daryl stated simply. "Last place he'll ever have."

Her heart dropped. "Oh."

When he began walking forward, she followed. He shoved his hands in his pockets and led her out to the middle of the open field, far away from the road. The bike's headlight shone on them and lit the path. Then she saw it: the wooden cross stuck into the ground. Daryl stopped in front of it and Beth stayed about a foot behind him, staring at the marker with wide eyes. There was a wreath of Cherokee Roses wrapped around the cross, but no disturbed soil to hint at any kind of proper grave. The cross had something carved into it but she couldn't read it without getting closer.

"Here 'e is," Daryl grumbled. "This is where I scattered his ashes. This is all that's left of ol' Merle Dixon."

_That you can see, _she thought. But she couldn't help feeling a bit depressed as she gazed down at the handmade cross, the dying wreath of flowers, the indiscernible carving that marked a man's entire life. Sure, Merle was an asshole but… this was just plain sad.

He glanced back at her and read the expression on her face. "Couldn't afford nothin' else. An' I sure as hell wasn't gonna keep some dead guy's ashes in a vase in my house. He always liked it out here so this is where I put 'im."

She nodded, tight-lipped and wide-eyed. She clutched her cardigan tighter around her against the chilly breeze that flowed through the field. Then she cleared her throat awkwardly.

"You don't have to explain yerself to me," she said.

He turned around to face her and said, "I'm not. 'M explainin' ta Merle."

Beth blinked in surprise. "Well - he's not here. I told 'im ta stay back. So we could talk."

Daryl furrowed his brow and frowned, grunting out an emphatic "_huh_." She could see the doubt quickly forming on his face.

She raised her eyebrows. "You _still_ don't believe me… do you?"

He shrugged, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. The bright light from the bike reflected off his eyes as he stared down his nose at her, scrutinizing her once again. Like he was trying to see through her entirely. He chewed on the inside of his cheek, staring at her so hard that she wanted to squirm beneath his gaze.

"Don't want to. An' why would I," he growled. Then his voice softened. "Yer prob'ly batshit insane. But yer family ain't. An' neither's Rick. So I don't really know _what_ to believe."

She sighed and muttered, "Yeah, well... welcome to my world."

He quirked a brow and gave her a quizzical look. "'S that mean? Can't tell me this is the first time you ever had somethin' like this happen. It ain't like you went out an' sought mental help when some dead guy started showin' up - like anybody _else_ would. An' the way you talk don't make it sound like any sorta _one-off_ thing. So why're you playin' so goddamn dumb?"

Beth reeled, stunned silent for a long moment as her mouth went dry. She wasn't _playing dumb_ \- she was fucking lost, she was clueless, she was in need of some kind of help that she couldn't seem to find. How could he not understand that? And how could she ever expect him to understand if he wasn't even fully convinced that she was telling the truth? What did he want - her life story? Did he want more reasons to believe her? Because she was pretty sure no matter how many reasons she gave him, it would never be enough.

Yet she could practically hear Merle's voice in the back of her head (as though she could never escape him), telling her to "_nut up an' give it a goddamn shot 'cause there ain't nothin' left to lose_." And she couldn't even say that he'd be entirely wrong.

_What the hell,_ she thought with a defeated sigh.

"You're right," she said, clutching the sides of her cardigan across her chest and looking down toward his boots while she spoke. "I mean, I'm not '_playing dumb_' - but it's not… the _first_ time. Not at all." She swallowed hard and chewed on her lower lip, growing more and more uncertain as the words formed and fell away all the same.

She'd never fathomed that she might have to explain the things she'd experienced throughout her life; the inexplicable things, the things that may or may not have actually happened because maybe it was just her stupid little kid brain or maybe it was just her overactive imagination. She'd left all those occurrences on the pages of old journals that remained tucked at the very back of her closet. In fact, she'd wanted to forget about them altogether.

But she couldn't.

Daryl shifted his weight again and Beth could see his fingers curling inside his pockets, his shoulders tensing. She could feel his eyes boring a hole through her and saw the bob of his adam's apple as he swallowed hard. Yet he remained silent.

She kept her eyes on his boots and his jeans, occasionally on the cross behind him. And she explained, "My dad used to tell me it was just old wives' tales. But I think my mom knew better. If she did though, she never really told me much about it. 'Cept the whole thing about animals and little kids seeing spirits an' stuff like that - but those were superstitions. I believed my dad fer a long time. I never had anything like how Merle is now - nobody ever followed me around or haunted me or anything like that. I mean, there was lots of _weird_ stuff: shadows in corners, people who would show up an' vanish before I could really see 'em, voices coming outta nowhere. But it wasn't like the _devil_ tryin' ta _possess_ me or something. So I kept my mouth shut. I tried to ignore it - I jus' wanted it to go away."

She paused and dragged her eyes up to meet his. Surprisingly, he was focused on her with his lips pursed tightly and he didn't look nearly as disbelieving as she'd expected. He was waiting for her to go on, so she did. Her voice threatened to shake but she kept it steady.

"When I was in elementary school, like nine or ten, I saw a lady outside the playground at recess. She was begging me for help but I… I didn't say anything. Nobody else could see her. And then she was just… _gone_. I didn't wanna sound crazy so I tried to forget about it. But about a year later, the Clarks' house caught on fire."

Daryl was furrowing his brow and chewing on his lower lip thoughtfully.

She quickly explained, "They were this old couple that my parents were friends with, they lived a few miles down the road from us. All their kids moved away so my mom an' dad always helped them out. But they were like, _really_ old." She shook her head. "Anyway - they didn't make it outta the fire. It was outta control before we even knew what was goin' on. We stood out by the road an' watched the firefighters put it out and we kept hopin' they'd pull the Clarks out but… then I saw 'em. Except it wasn't _them_, exactly. Nobody else could see 'em. Just me."

Daryl's brow went from furrowed to raised, his mouth in a tight line as he gazed down at her with intrigue.

Beth swallowed and licked her lips briefly, glancing away and toward his boots once more as her cheeks grew warm. "They died. I saw… I saw them walk out of that house. Through all the flames. And they were happy. But when I turned around, they were gone."

"They crossed over."

His deep voice startled her and she looked back up to meet his narrowed azure eyes. Shocked, she nodded.

"Yeah," she confirmed, her voice cracking. "They did. And I _saw_ them."

He gave a brief nod of his head, as if to say 'okay, go on.' She shifted uncomfortably in place and licked her lips again.

"I didn't see anybody else - not really. I thought it went away after I hit puberty an' I was happy about it. I wanted to forget all the weird stuff, I jus' wanted to be _normal_. And my mom got sick and then she died and I… didn't see her at all. Even though I would've liked to. So I thought it was, like… _over_. I thought it was just me bein' a weird kid. I thought Daddy was right: it was all just an old wives' tale."

There was a long moment of tense silence.

Then Daryl grunted and clicked his tongue and said, "And then Merle showed up."

Beth nodded in confirmation and pressed her lips together, trying to gauge his reaction and interpret the contemplative look in his eyes.

"And then Merle showed up," she echoed softly.

There was another long moment of silence, this one even tenser than before. She couldn't read him, couldn't decipher whether he actually believed her or if he was about to burst out laughing and tell her that she was insane. Her heart sped up and she struggled to maintain eye contact.

"'M pretty sure ya ain't on drugs. But I still think yer a little crazy," he finally muttered, pulling one hand from his pocket to stroke his goatee thoughtfully while he spoke.

She frowned and sighed, shrugging. "Then so be it. Maybe I am. It would sure as hell make a lot more sense than all - " she gestured broadly to the cross and the bike and everything back at the farm " - _this_."

He smirked and continued fiddling with his goatee and she was sure he was about to make a joke at her expense. But then he said, "That's the thing - crazy people don't _know_ they're crazy, an' they sure as shit won't admit it."

Her heart lifted with hope and she held back a smile, straightening her back and squaring her shoulders almost proudly.

Daryl jerked his chin toward her expectantly and said, "Still don't make sense, though. Why the fuck would Merle need help crossin' over? An' why from _you_?"

Beth shrugged and replied meekly, "I don't know. He said he tried gettin' people to hear him for weeks till he found me. But then the kid outside the psychic's - "

"He even tell you what kinda person he was when he was alive?" Daryl interrupted, and her mouth snapped shut.

"Yeah. Fer the most part," she answered.

He raised his eyebrows and took a step toward her. "Yeah? He tell you how he did absolutely _fuck-all_ with all those years he had? He tell you how much shit he got us into an' how much _shit_ I had ta get us out of? He tell you how many people he hurt? How many times he put himself before everybody else - even his own _blood_?"

She swallowed hard, withering beneath Daryl's intense gaze and even more intense tone of voice. "Well - yeah. I mean… he killed yer _dad_, Daryl. I _know_ Merle was awful. I know he led you around an' put you guys in danger all the time. I know he drank way too much an' had a drug problem an' should've been in jail more often than not. He told me at least _some_ of it."

"Yeah?" His voice was frigid. "So you know jus' as well as I do that he was fully aware of all the fuckin' _pain_ he caused in his lifetime…"

She nodded hesitantly.

His hand flew away from his chin to gesture angrily toward the cross behind him as he partially turned his body toward it. "Ya know why I made that stupid fuckin' wreath? 'Cause when I put 'im out here, I told myself there should be somethin' _nice_ that he left behind. Just one goddamn thing. 'Cept there never _would_ be an' I _knew_ it… I'm not fool enough ta think there's any flowers bloomin' for _my_ brother. He was a small-minded asshole and he didn't care about nobody but himself."

She stared back, speechless. Daryl slashed his arm through the air and scoffed loudly.

"...And he still expects us ta _help_ him? Fer _what_? What the _fuck_ do I owe that bastard that I didn't already pay in tenfold over the last twenty years? He need a goddamn _hand_ ta hold while he marches down into the pits of _Hell_? Huh - is _that_ it?!"

Beth might've normally flinched or been taken aback but if she'd learned anything from this excruciatingly long day, it was that one Dixon wasn't a whole hell of a lot different from another. And they both seemed to lash out in the same manner, their angry outbursts mirroring one another; all emotion with no real substance besides pent-up angst and resentment. So she was unfazed, clenching her jaw and refusing to look away from Daryl's scathing glare. In a way, she'd been expecting this reaction; preparing for it. Because she was just as angry as he was. Probably more so.

At least Daryl didn't have to _hear_ his obnoxious dead brother. She did.

"I don't _know_, okay?" She said, her voice rising defensively but remaining firm. "I'm just as confused as you are. He seems like the worst person I've ever had the displeasure of meeting but here we are. And no matter what he did while he was alive, he's stuck here now - stuck with _me_. And _you_. He's probably destined fer Hell, but who am I to say? He seems pretty damn intent on this whole thing and it's startin' to make me think there's more to it. The way he talks, yer the only person he's _ever_ given a shit about. And that's _still_ the case."

Daryl ground his teeth angrily and glared down at her, scratching the stubble on his cheek awkwardly before shoving his hand back into his pocket. His rage withdrew and he said, "Maybe there's some shit he ain't tellin' you. That'd be pretty typical fuckin' Merle for ya."

She contemplated his words for a few seconds, worrying her lower lip. She didn't want to appear as uncertain as she felt because that comment had suddenly sent a surge of doubt rushing through her.

_What else are you not telling me, Merle?_ She wondered. _How am I supposed to help if you're leaving things out?_

Beth shrugged and muttered quietly, "Maybe. He keeps sayin' that it's all between you an' him."

Daryl grunted and rolled his eyes skyward, heaving out an exasperated sigh. He shut his eyes and mumbled, "Fuckin' figures…"

She cleared her throat and avoided looking at the cross, focusing on Daryl instead. "So you believe me now?"

He groaned and stepped toward her, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'ono. Maybe. Maybe not."

"Well if you brought me out here ta prove that Merle's dead, it wasn't necessary," she said. "I already know. I never doubted it."

"Alrigh', well," he grumbled, stepping past her and heading back toward the bike. "Think it's time ya show me where that statue is."

"What - _now_?" She spun around and began following after him, nearly tripping over a clump of tall grass in the process.

"We're already out. Might as well."

"We'd have ta go back an' get Merle - "

As if on cue, Merle appeared literally out of thin air mere feet in front of Beth, grinning and holding his hands out like he was presenting himself as some kind of prize.

"Somebody call me?"

**to be continued...**


	11. Kinda Like Beetlejuice But Way Sleazier

**Kinda Like Beetlejuice But Way Sleazier**

The words poured from Beth in uninhibited repulsion: "What're you - frickin' _Beetlejuice_?"

Merle tilted his head back and cackled loudly. "Oh, c'mon! I know ya missed me, blondie." He wriggled his eyebrows suggestively, smirking and giving her a look that nearly made her gag. "I sure missed you. Gets awful lonely when the only person who can hear me ain't around."

She rolled her eyes and breezed past him, scowling angrily. "I hate it when you do that." She'd really been hoping for just a _few_ more moments free of Merle.

"Do _what_? Show up when somebody's talkin' about me?"

"You probably followed even though I told you _not_ to, didn't you?"

He shrugged, putting on a not-so-convincing innocent expression. "_No. _I mean… I get bored pretty quick. I mighta caught up, mighta heard the tail-end…"

Daryl heard her speaking and stopped to turn around and look at her curiously. She stopped too, frowning and shooting him an apologetic glance. "Your brother just showed up," she explained. "I guess he got _impatient_."

Merle laughed. "I've always been impatient."

"He was always impatient," Daryl growled in near-perfect unison.

Beth had to blink and shake her head, choosing not to focus on Merle for the moment even though he wouldn't stop making comments as she followed Daryl back to the bike. As if things weren't already weird enough… She wasn't sure she was capable of dealing with both Dixons at the same time.

"Maybe I shoulda come along after all. I was the main topic of conversation anyhow, wasn't I?"

She merely shrugged and ignored the dead brother, eagerly mounting the motorcycle behind Daryl and wrapping her arms around his middle, more than ready to leave the sad field. She gave Merle a withering look as the engine roared to life but he was still grinning.

"Well?" Daryl turned his head to look back at her, eyebrows raised expectantly. "Which way am I s'posed ta go?"

Beth looked to Merle and his grin grew wider. "Oh - so you want _my_ help now?"

She sighed against Daryl's back and said, "Just give me the directions so we can get this over with."

Merle pondered her request for a second, his grin fading as he crossed his arms over his chest. "How 'bout you say _'please'_ first? DIdn't yer daddy ever teach you any manners, princess?"

She clenched her jaw and resisted the urge to quip back with a smartass remark, Daryl's eyes heavy on her as he awaited the end of her ghost argument. He was still kind of looking at her like she'd grown a second head, but he seemed to be getting more used to it. Or he was just entertaining her for the sake of seeing how insane she could actually be. Either way…

She repeated spitefully, "_Please_ give me the directions so we can get this over with."

Merle frowned and shrugged. "Expected better'an that but whatever. We'll work on it. Now tell Darylina ta get goin' - an' don't be afraid to tell him ta take his skirt off an' open that baby up a little bit." He scowled and spit on the ground. "I didn't spend ten years buildin' that sonuvabitch jus' so this pussy could drive it around like some kinda _bitch-mobile_."

Daryl must've been studying Beth's facial expressions as he awaited an answer. "He's bitchin' about how I drive his bike, isn't he?"

All Beth could think was: _Lord, what did I do to deserve being caught between two insufferable brothers like this?_

* * *

Between crude remarks and suggestive comments, Merle muttered directions in Beth's ear and she repeated them to Daryl over the roar of the motorcycle as they sped down the endless dirt roads outside Senoia. She found herself repeatedly biting her tongue, withholding all the retorts she would normally sling back at Merle after every crass statement he voiced. He would _not_ stop laughing at the prospect of Daryl and Beth "gettin' even closer" - nor would he stop talking about it - and it made her wish he was alive just so she could slap him. After a few miles, she chose to tune him out entirely except when he said "turn left" or "turn right."

They must've driven at least ten miles, though maybe it just felt that way because Merle made everything worse. But finally, they approached another wide open field. Except this one had a large pond set in the middle that was barely visible from the road. Daryl drove up as far as the barbwire-fence before he parked the bike and shut it off. He and Beth climbed off and slipped through the fence, trekking through the field with Merle in tow.

"Yeah, jus' keep walkin' this way. It's up here toward the water," he instructed, growing quieter once they'd passed the big sign stuck in the ground that read: _Private Property No Trespassing_.

"He says it's further up this way toward the water," Beth said quietly, even though there was no one around to hear them save for the crickets and owls and raccoons. "Should we be here, though? It's private property - I dunno who owns this land."

Daryl grunted from where he was walking a couple feet ahead. "Ain't nobody gonna know we was ever here. We'll be gone 'fore anybody notices."

Beth made a sound of uncertainty but didn't argue. A few steps later, Daryl paused and glanced back at her over his shoulder.

"Think I know this place," he muttered. "Looks like one a the spots me an' Merle used ta fish."

She looked over at Merle and he shot her a smug smirk, nodding his head as he walked.

"Yeah. It is," he told her.

She frowned and hesitated, unsure of whether or not she wanted to repeat his confirmation. Then again, she reckoned it couldn't hurt: it was just one more thing to help convince Daryl she wasn't lying. Because how the hell would _she_ know about him and his brother's random old fishing spot on private property?

"He says you did," she whispered. She didn't know why she was whispering but it just felt appropriate. They were _trespassing_, after all.

Daryl didn't glance back at her or make any sound of acknowledgment though she knew he heard her. He continued leading the way through the field and toward the water.

"I stole that boat an' we went fishin' in this big-ass pond," Merle said, chuckling as he reminisced aloud. "We had two _whole_ twenty-packs an' the damn thing tipped over less'an ten beers in. And this dumbass managed ta pull _me_ to shore but not the fuckin' beer!" He scoffed in disgust.

Beth stifled a laugh and shook her head, repeating to Daryl's back, "I guess he stole a boat an' tipped it over while you guys were drinking an' fishing…? And you pulled him to shore but didn't save the beer."

Daryl's head whipped around and he halted in his tracks. "I knew I remembered this place," he muttered. "Saved his goddamn _life_ an' all he could say was '_go get the beer, dumbass_.'"

"He's so fuckin' overdramatic," Merle scoffed. "Emotional li'l Darylina - actin' like I didn't know how ta _swim_. I spent four years in the military, I coulda saved my fuckin' self just fine. Always gotta be the martyr though, don'tcha?"

Beth cleared her throat and met Daryl's gaze awkwardly, taking a step forward to motion that she wanted to keep moving. "He, um - well, _you_ know 'im. You can probably guess what he's saying. About bein' in the military and knowin' how to swim and how you always wanna be the - uh… _martyr_."

This was weird. She really _really_ didn't want to have to be the messenger when it came to brotherly strife like this. But she also didn't want to give Daryl any reason to not believe her. He deserved to hear everything Merle was saying - just as much as _she_ deserved to hear it.

He grunted and frowned, giving her a once-over full of trepidation. He chewed the inside of his cheek and hesitated in place. Then he turned and resumed leading them forward.

"Never wanted ta be a _martyr_," he muttered after a half-dozen steps. "Still don't. Guess everybody remembers shit differently… As much as he pissed me off, I'd give anything jus' ta have my brother back. But that's not how it works. He was pushin' me away fer _years_ before he hung himself."

"Bullshit," Merle spat. "Yer bitch-ass was _runnin'_ away. An' I didn't fuckin' _hang_ myself, goddammit!"

Beth swallowed hard and eyed the back of Daryl's vest, eyes trained on the embroidered wings as she said cautiously, "_If_ he hung himself…"

Daryl shot her a side-eye over his shoulder and grumbled something under his breath.

"Beg your pardon?" She asked sarcastically, growing frustrated. She was just the _messenger_, she didn't deserve this kind of hostility.

"He said you must have about as many brain cells as all the idiots I hung around with if you believe that," Merle clarified for her resentfully. "Stubborn little prick. He would never say this shit ta my _face_, I'll tell ya what."

She glared over at Merle as she continued walking and snapped, "Well he's saying it now and he _knows_ you're here so it's kinda the same thing, don'tcha think? Just tell us where the statue is an' stop making me the referee in your stupid little quarrel."

Merle crossed his arms over his chest defiantly and just as Beth looked ahead again, she found Daryl had stopped and turned around to face her. She halted abruptly, nearly tripping over her own feet. He glanced at the general area where Merle was standing, eyes narrowing as he met Beth's eyes in the dim moonlight.

"So let's say this whole thing _isn't_ some kinda long con," Daryl said. "Let's say you're _not_ lying right to my face - "

"I'm _not_," she cut in.

He waved a hand to shush her and continued, "Whatever. Here's my _biggest_ question: if he showed up an' threatened ta haunt yer daddy to death an' whatnot… why the hell'd you invite him in? Why didn't you jus' say no?"

Beth's lips parted but she was too confused to form an answer. She stared at Daryl, perplexed. "Um… what?"

"Well 'e couldn'ta come in if you hadn't _invited_ him," he said matter-of-factly. "How'd he trick ya into that one?"

She was still trying to figure out where this question was coming from and where he was getting his logic when Merle started busting up laughing beside her. She glanced over at him and raised her eyebrows, hoping he would explain what the hell was so funny because Daryl was looking awful serious right now.

"Holy shit," Merle gasped between loud, breathless laughter. He doubled over, hands on his knees as he laughed even harder. Finally, he shook his head and wiped away the tears, still chuckling as he explained, "This _dumbass_ is thinkin' of _werewolves_! Christ, what an idiot..."

Beth sighed, rolling her eyes. "You're _both_ wrong," she said, looking at Daryl. "It's _vampires_ that have to be invited in - you're thinking of vampires. Not _ghosts_."

Merle's laughter stopped abruptly and Daryl's face was quickly turning red in the dim light, his lips pursed. Then both brothers grumbled out in nearly identical tones, "Whatever."

Beth stifled a laugh as Daryl spun around, though she admittedly felt guilty for finding it a little funny. He resumed trekking across the field in silence. Merle, always quick to recover and even quicker to forget and ignore an instance where he was wrong about something, was still muttering and chuckling about how "stupid" his little brother was.

They reached the pond a few moments later and stopped to look out and take it in: Beth hadn't seen many ponds quite this large and she wondered how deep it was. And if that stolen boat was still somewhere at the bottom. The sound of crickets and bullfrogs grew louder and Daryl had to speak up to be heard over the raucous wildlife.

"So where's it at?" He asked, glancing over to the spot where he thought Merle was standing - though the dead Dixon was on the other side of Beth now. "Hope ya hid it somewhere nobody was gonna find it. Might be gone by now."

"I ain't stupid," Merle snapped. "'S over there - in them trees." He pointed past Daryl and toward the huge, dark clump of trees a few yards away from the pond.

Beth jerked her chin in that direction and met Daryl's expectant gaze. "He says it's over there in those trees."

Daryl turned and looked to where she was gesturing then turned back with a scowl and a suspicious glare. "Perfect. You happen ta bring a flashlight or am I supposed ta use sonar to find it?"

Merle scoffed. "Sonar's for underwater detection, retard. It ain't _underwater_, it's under a fuckin' log."

Beth ignored his remark and explained to Daryl, "No, but I have my phone. D'you have yours? We can use the flashlights on 'em."

"Fine. Yer comin' with me, though," he growled before turning and leading them away from the pond and toward the dark woods.

"_Obviously_," she muttered, rolling her eyes in annoyance.

They trekked forward, heading to the edge of the tree line and pausing. "He said it's under a log," she added.

Daryl nodded without looking back at her, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his phone. She did the same and they both turned their flashlights on. The small beams didn't provide the best light but it was enough to cut through the pitch black within the trees and illuminate their path. He took the first few cautious steps into the darkness, Beth following closely behind. Then he paused and stepped aside, gesturing for her to step in front of him.

"Lead the way," he muttered, eyebrows raised.

She pursed her lips and nodded, stepping forward and aiming the light from the back of her phone onto the ground before her. She glanced over at Merle and watched him flicker and disappear, reappearing solid in front of her a split-second later. He nodded his head and gestured for her to follow him so she kept the light pointed down and forward, trying to ignore the way that it literally shone right through his seemingly solid legs and feet. He almost appeared ethereal in the artificial glow of her phone's flashlight. Even though he was so obviously anything _but_.

_I wish Daddy had been right,_ she thought, stepping slowly and carefully over undergrowth and moss and scattered tree branches, eyes trained on the back of Merle's legs. _I wish ghosts were nothing but superstitions and fairytales. If only he could know the truth. But it would break his heart._

Merle muttered under his breath the whole way, talking to himself like he was trying to remember exactly where he'd put the damn thing. They weaved through trees, over fallen logs, turned here and there, getting deeper and deeper into the woods. Beth was beginning to think he'd forgotten where he was even going, about to ask him if he actually knew where the hell he was leading them. And she could hear Daryl sighing with exasperation just behind her, probably thinking the same thing.

Then Merle stopped and spun around, grinning from ear-to-ear and puffing out his chest proudly with his hands on his hips. He gestured down to the large hollow log sitting before them and proclaimed, "Here it is! Fuckin' found the bastard. 'Bout forgot how damn far I wandered out here." He frowned and looked around uncomfortably.

"Well - where is it?" Daryl asked impatiently.

Beth looked to Merle expectantly and repeated the sentiment. "Yeah, where is it? Like - _underneath_?"

Merle nodded. "Yeah! Jus' lift the damn thing. I dug a li'l hole under it."

She stepped aside, keeping her light shining on the log, and looked at Daryl. "He says he dug a hole under the log, we just gotta lift it."

Daryl shrugged and handed her his phone without a word, stepping forward and grabbing the bottom of the log with both hands while planting his feet firmly in the dirt. She kept both lights trained on him as he grunted and strained, lifting the log after a few seconds and finally heaving it aside. He stood up straight and let out a deep breath, wiping his palms off on the front of his jeans.

Sure enough, there it was: a hand-dug hole hiding beneath the heavy log, just large enough to fit the most hideous ceramic statue that Beth had ever laid eyes on. She almost gasped aloud but stifled it, swallowing it down instead. Admittedly, she hadn't been expecting Merle to actually lead them to anything.

"Is… that it?" She asked quietly.

Daryl met her gaze with narrowed eyes and frowned, then crouched down silently and reached into the hole, grabbing the heftiest sides of the statue and slowly dragging it out to rest on the ground. He tilted it until it was sitting upright, then stood up and stared down at it wordlessly for a moment.

"Yeah," he said. "That's it."

_It _was an ugly ceramic statue depicting a rather unrealistic female body - but only from the thighs up to the neck. The breasts were obscenely large and spilling out of a tiny bikini, the waist thin and the hips only barely wider. Beth couldn't hide the expression of repulsion on her face as she took in the sight.

"That thing is… _hideous_," she said.

Merle and Daryl both chuckled.

"'Sposed ta be a replica of Pam Anderson," Daryl explained, crouching down on one knee and inspecting closer. "From that old show, _Baywatch_."

"A replica of the parts that're worth lookin' at," Merle added, snickering.

Beth scrunched her nose in disgust. "This is the kinda stuff your dad… took _pride_ in?"

Daryl laughed humorlessly. "Oh yeah. This is one a the few he liked enough ta keep around."

Before she could ask, Merle explained, "Used all the others as target practice in the livin' room. But this one had a _special_ place in that cold black pit where his heart shoulda been." He cackled with amusement. "Guess he always had a soft spot fer that Pam Anderson slut, 'specially after he watched 'er sex tape."

"Ew," she said. Daryl looked up to her quizzically and she asked, appalled, "Your dad shot at stuff - _inside_ your house?"

He furrowed his brow, a bit confused at how she knew that. "Yeah. Among other things," he mumbled before quickly looking back down at the statue, resting a large hand atop it.

She knew Will Dixon was awful, but in all honesty, she'd never entertained the idea of someone actually shooting at things inside their own house. Like it wasn't an extremely unsafe thing to do. This guy sounded worse and worse with every new fact she learned about him, and it only made more and more sense why Merle had killed him. And why Daryl was so… _rough around the edges_.

"Tell 'im ta turn it over," Merle said, and she gave him a questioning look. "Turn it over - inside the leg, there's a spot jus' under the bikini line. I slipped somethin' in there."

Beth narrowed her eyes, hesitant to repeat his instructions. He slashed a hand through the air and insisted, "Fer _him_. I put it in there specifically fer Daryl ta find. Tell 'im, blondie!"

She chewed her lower lip for a second and watched as Daryl ran his fingers over every crevice and crack on the dirty old statue. Then she pushed the words out: "Turn it over. Merle said he put somethin' in a spot under the bikini line, inside the leg."

Daryl looked up at her and she could see the doubt on his face.

She quickly added, "He says it's something _for_ _you_."

His eyes lingered on her suspiciously but he looked back down and turned the statue over. It _plopp_ed down into the dirt on its back and he slid his fingertips over the bikini line and around the thigh, pausing when he found the aforementioned hole. His frown deepened and he leaned down closer to get a better look. Beth stepped forward and crouched down as well, aiming both phones' lights at the spot in an effort to be helpful. Then he grunted and pulled out a thin piece of plastic. Once it had slid all the way out and was pinched between his forefingers, she realized it wasn't a piece of plastic at all - it was a photo. Like one of those old Polaroids that her mama had compiled within dozens of family albums.

Daryl's face completely changed as he held the photo up and grasped it in both hands, staring at it with widened eyes. Merle was silent beside them, hands resting pridefully on his hips while he watched them with intrigue.

Beth didn't dare lower the flashlights, studying the range of emotions flickering through Daryl's eyes as he stared at the photo. She saw his adam's apple bob up and down as he swallowed hard and she thought his eyes might've started watering.

"What is it?" She asked softly, voice cracking.

His gaze flicked up and met hers and he quickly tucked the photo into a pocket on the inside of his vest. He licked his lips and cleared his throat. "Just a picture."

"Of him an' Mama," Merle eagerly added. "Only picture left a them together. I was smart enough ta hide it away 'fore Pa found it. Almost got donated to Goodwill in a box of her old shit."

Beth frowned and looked at Daryl seriously, speaking softly, "You and your mom? Merle says it's the only one left of you two; he saved it before your dad found it."

A flash of anger appeared on Daryl's face and he quickly looked away, standing up and giving the statue a hearty kick with his steel-toed boots. The high-pitched _ding_ echoed off the trees around them and the crickets went silent for a second.

"So he could save a fuckin' _picture_," he growled angrily, shoving his hands into his pockets. The rest of the words seemed to trail off without leaving his mouth. Then he spat on the ground and stepped away from the statue, leaving it where it lay in the dirt. He stopped beside her and reached out to snatch his phone back before walking away, giving her no choice but to follow after him as quickly as she could. She nearly stumbled over a large tree root but caught herself just in time, Merle's obnoxious laughter ringing in her ears.

"What - where're we goin'?" Beth called after Daryl, struggling to keep up his hasty pace through the undergrowth and dead leaves. "Did you - are you gonna _listen_ to me now?"

He didn't respond or slow down and she glared at his back, willing him to stop and look at her. But he just kept going, weaving between trees and leading them toward the edge of the woods much quicker than she could follow. Merle was chuckling incessantly and flickering in every which direction, popping up here and there randomly, all too proud of himself for eliciting such a strong reaction. Even _she_ could feel the anger and the hurt that was currently radiating off of Daryl, so palpable that it was almost awkward. She was clearly ripping open some old wounds and she really didn't like it, but if it meant he was going to finally stop thinking that she was crazy…

They reached the tree line much quicker than before and stepped out into the dim moonlight at the edge of the pond, Beth breathing hard and Daryl clenching his jaw and his fists. They switched off the flashlights on their phones and he shoved his into his pocket roughly before spinning and beginning to stride forward, back in the direction of the fence and the bike.

"Oh, he's pissy 'cause you was right an' he's gotta _admit_ it," Merle explained, grinning smugly and sticking close to Beth's side as she followed after Daryl. "Ain't nothin' Darylina hates more'an havin' to admit when he's wrong."

She huffed out a breath and sped up her pace, keeping within a few feet of Daryl's back. "Daryl - where are we _going_? I - "

"I'm takin' you home," he snapped without glancing back.

She frowned and exchanged a look with Merle, whose grin was rapidly fading. "D'you - do you at least _believe_ me now? I couldn't make this crap up, you _must_ know that by now."

Daryl merely grunted in response, waving a hand dismissively in her direction. She clutched her cardigan tighter around her and withheld any further questions, choosing to simply follow him back to the bike and figure it out from there. She hoped Merle would keep his mouth shut so as not to make things any harder than they needed to be.

But she couldn't keep from wondering if this instance had helped or if it had actually _hindered_ Daryl's belief. Surely he would have no choice but to be convinced after finding something so mysterious and specific? Something she had absolutely no way of knowing about? Yet he was acting like she'd just found the most vulnerable topic possible and pried it open for no reason. As if there was any way she could've known about that photo or that statue or his dad. As if there was anything for her to gain from supposedly leading him on like this. There was no way he could keep denying it at this point.

Then again, Dixons weren't turnips.

He hopped onto the bike and started it up before she even had the chance to climb on behind him. Once she finally did, breathless, she wrapped her arms tightly around his middle and found all his muscles stiff as a board. He kicked up the kickstand and revved the engine and sped out of the field and back onto the road, rapidly picking up speed once the tires hit dirt and gravel. Beth was still trying to catch her breath, shutting her eyes against the rush of cold wind and burying her face into the back of Daryl's vest, clutching onto him for dear life. Merle was seemingly left behind but she knew it was only a matter of time until he appeared beside her again.

The ride was a lot faster - and a lot _scarier_ \- this time around. Daryl's emotions shown in the way he was driving, nearly giving Beth a panic attack by the time they were halfway back to her house. She was flooded with relief when she saw the farm come into view, and even more so when they approached the house and Daryl was forced to slow down and quiet the engine down the long driveway. Her heart was still racing, and it jumped again when Merle appeared out of thin air at the side of the house, leaning against the siding amongst the shadows as though he'd been waiting there all night. He was frowning and glaring at Daryl with an expression she couldn't quite interpret. She chose to ignore it and focus on the living brother.

Her legs were once again shaky when she climbed off the bike and stepped away. Daryl remained in place, hands still gripping the handlebars and back hunched forward. He met her eyes for a brief second before looking away.

"Are you - yer gonna come with me to meet the Swamp Witch, right?" She asked, desperation lacing her tone.

He scoffed and reached into his pocket, pulling out the folded-up map that Beth had thrown down on the table hours ago. He held it out for her and she hesitantly reached forward to take it.

He didn't respond until she had the map grasped in both her hands. "I dunno yet. Still can't figure out if yer full'a shit or just _nuts_."

Beth frowned and opened her mouth to argue, but he cut her off before she could start.

"I put my number in yer phone earlier. Call me tomorrow. If ya don't hear back… well, tough shit."

Then he revved the motorcycle loudly and turned, driving away and racing back to the end of the driveway. He paused at the edge of the road before peeling off, scattering dust and gravel behind his back tire. A few seconds later, he'd disappeared down the dark road. She could still hear his bike echoing off the trees.

"Like I said," Merle said, stepping away from the house and approaching Beth's side to stare off after his brother. "Overdramatic little pussy boy. Too damn sensitive fer his own good. _Told_ _ya_ he was the soft one."

She groaned and stuffed the map into her pocket with an exhausted sigh, unable to exude the energy it took to look at Merle or even respond to him.

"I already made up my mind," she said decisively, dragging her feet through the grass and toward the backdoor of the house. "I'm _going_ to that Swamp Witch's place tomorrow. Even if I gotta go alone. I'm done wasting time."

Merle chuckled and clapped his hands sarcastically. "'Bout damn time you grow a pair an' take some responsibility! 'Cept you ain't gonna get far without _Daryl_… dummy."

She shook her head and paused on the back porch, turning to give him an indignant look. "Says _who_?"

"Says me. _And_ the Swamp Witch's little messenger boy. Best pray my baby brother pulls his head out of his ass real soon, sweetcheeks."

This might've been the moment where Beth began drilling Merle to find out just exactly _what_ he wasn't telling her, since he seemed to know so much. But in all honesty, she was far too exhausted. It felt like the day had gone on forever and now she was home, _this close_ to collapsing into her waiting bed.

_There's no point anyway, _she thought with resignation. _I can't squeeze any more blood out of Merle than I can Daryl._ _I'll just have to worry about dragging Daryl along tomorrow. Once I get a good night's sleep. Then we'll get to the bottom of things. Yeah. We'll figure it all out tomorrow…_

**to be continued...**

* * *

**A/N: **So the response to this fic has been really incredible and way better than I could've ever hoped for. Honestly, I was not sure at all that anyone would want to read this or would even like it, let alone think it's funny. I thought, eh maybe I've just got a weird soft spot for ol' Merle Dixon. But apparently I'm not the only one! I just wanna say THANK YOU to everyone who's been leaving reviews and following. Y'all are amazing and I hope you continue enjoying this fun little fic that I wrote on a whim :)  
(don't forget to subscribe to me on AO3 under the same penname and follow me on tumblr at im-immortal)


	12. Different Siblings, Same Problems

**Different Siblings, Same Problems**

To Beth's great relief, and surprise, Merle agreed to leave her alone for the night and let her get some sleep. But _only_, he reiterated more times than she cared to count, because she'd finally listened to him and gone and found Daryl and put some actual goddamn effort into the whole thing. She chose not to remind him that she'd spent all day driving around in search of an answer - and only because she did that, did they even get any sort of clue that _could_ lead them toward an answer. It would just go in one ear and out the other, anyway. Talking to Merle was literally like talking to a ghost. Or, more accurately, a brick wall.

She collapsed into her bed shortly before midnight and fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow. And she slept hard because when she opened her eyes, it felt like she'd just laid down seconds before. But the sun had risen and was shining through the thin curtains on her windows, beginning to fill the bedroom with morning light. The clock beside her bed told her it was almost 7 am.

She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and groaned, stretching out her arms and yawning. She wanted to roll over and go back to sleep but she'd already stayed in bed later than usual and it was only a matter of time before Shawn or her dad came knocking at the door to check on her.

"Mornin', sunshine," Merle chided from where he sat at her desk, one leg crossed over the other and an array of old magazines and books scattered on the floor around him. He had a recent issue of _Teen Vogue_ open on his lap.

Beth sat up slowly and blinked away the sleepy fog clouding her vision, sighing heavily. Just looking at him made her want to roll over and hide in bed forever. But she knew he'd never allow that.

She furrowed her brow and frowned. "What're you _doing_?"

"Readin'," he answered, gazing down at the open magazine in his hands.

"I see that, but - _how_?" She looked pointedly at the mess of magazines and books strewn across the floor. "So what, you can jus' pick up stuff whenever you want now? First my phone, now my books?"

He shrugged without looking up from the page. "Guess I ain't as powerless as you thought I was, princess. Ol' Merle's got his ways."

She sighed. "Whatever… You don't need ta be going through my stuff though, ya know. I have some very _personal_ things in some a those - "

"Oh, gimme a break," he cut her off, licking a finger and turning the page of the magazine. "I already saw all that. Wasn't even that interesting. I was tryin' ta figure out how that dense teenaged brain a yers works, but now I jus' got more questions than when I started."

She rolled her eyes. "I'm not a _teenager_, I'm - "

"Yeah yeah, whatever," he waved a hand and cut her off, his gaze still skimming down the glossy pages before him. He squinted his eyes and made a sound of confusion, asking, "Why the hell ain't I ever heard of '_kegels_' till now?!"

Beth cringed and shook her head, throwing the blanket off her legs and standing up. "I'm gettin' in the shower. Just… stay here an' keep _educating_ yourself."

He grunted an agreement without looking up, turning the page and squinting down at the words. She sighed and gathered together a clean outfit before leaving the bedroom and retreating into the bathroom for a much-needed _peaceful_ shower.

When she returned, fully awake and refreshed with fresh clothes on and her hair wrapped up in a towel, she found Merle exactly as she'd left him. He was nearly to the back cover of the issue of _Teen Vogue _in his hands. She relished in the ever-so-rare silence and padded barefoot around her room, tidying up and making her bed before sitting down at her vanity table and brushing out her hair. She was almost done applying her usual light layer of makeup when she heard Merle grunt, followed by the soft _plop_ of a magazine landing on the floor.

"What's this - '_fifty tips to make your man horny_'?" He commented, and Beth glanced over her shoulder to see him picking up an old _Cosmopolitan_. She rolled her eyes and went back to her routine while he laughed and said, "What the fuck're the other forty-nine after 'touch his dick'?"

She heard him flipping through pages for a few minutes while she finished her hair. Then he sighed with disappointment and muttered, "Not _one_ of these goddamn tips says ta touch his dick. Y'all females are really bein' led astray out here. No wonder yer such an airhead, blondie." He tossed the magazine down to join the others in a pile on the floor, frowning in disappointment.

Beth stood up and stepped away to grab her shoes and slip them on, her frustration already growing. "It's too _early_ for this. Can you at least gimme a chance to get some coffee in my system before you start up with your bullshi-"

"Bethy, who're you talkin' to?"

Beth's lips snapped shut and she looked to the door with wide eyes. Merle laughed loudly, quick to observe the stranger.

"Well, well - now who's _this_ green-eyed babe? Nice tits," He said. "Now see, blondie, _that's_ the kinda broad I would happily hump. Might even give 'er a call back afterwards."

"Maggie," Beth said, stunned. "What're you doin' here?"

Maggie's eyes flicked around and took in the appearance of Beth's room, which was mostly normal save for the books and magazines scattered around the desk. And thank God that Merle hadn't picked another one up - there was no way Beth could explain a _floating_ magazine.

Nonetheless, Maggie gave her a puzzled look and said, "Um - Mom's anniversary…? I told you on Sunday that I'd be here today."

Beth blinked and shook her head. "Right - sorry. I forgot what day it was. I've been kinda busy this week."

Maggie's brunette hair had grown out a few inches since Beth had last seen her and she tucked a strand behind her ear, a hint of concern remaining in her jade eyes. She was tanner than before, too - she must've had an active summer. She leaned against the doorframe and shot a suspicious glance toward the area where Merle was standing before meeting Beth's eyes again.

"Dad told me you've been babysittin' for Rick a lot more lately," she said. "You have a late night? Shawn said you weren't at breakfast."

Beth frowned, immediately able to see the real intentions behind Maggie's innocent questions. Maggie could be nosy. But worst of all, she was a worrier and sometimes - well, _most_ of the time - it was unnecessary. Just because Beth had experienced a couple of difficult years after her mom died didn't mean she was going to go spiraling out of control again anytime soon. Or ever. She'd learned her lesson, she didn't need Maggie poking and prodding and trying to make something out of nothing. She wasn't a dumb teenager anymore. But she wasn't sure her big sister would ever actually see her and respect her as a real adult; Beth might always be a dumb teenager in Maggie's eyes.

"Yeah - I had a late night at Rick's. But I'm fine," she replied defensively. Then her expression softened and she added, "I promise."

Maggie pursed her lips but nodded anyway. "Alright. Well, Glenn will be here this evening. Me an' Dad were gonna sit down and do some planning for the memorial dinner, you wanna help?" She tucked her hair behind her ear again, hand lingering next to her face.

Beth shrugged and bent down to finish tying up her boots, eyes focused on the laces. "I dunno. I kinda told Rick I'd watch Judith again today. He's working overtime, so…"

It was a simple enough lie. No reason to stray from what she'd passed off the day before. And she really had no desire to help in the planning for her mom's annual memorial dinner - but she wouldn't dare tell Maggie that. She wasn't even sure she wanted to attend this time around, but that was a whole other problem to be dealt with later.

Maggie sighed like she was frustrated, though Beth had no idea what for. Because she wasn't jumping at the opportunity to help them plan? Whatever, her sister could be upset all she wanted. Beth had bigger fish to fry - and not much time to fry them.

"Okay well, there's still some waffles and bacon left if yer hungry," the older Greene muttered, then turned and disappeared down the hall before Beth could utter so much as a "thanks." Seconds later, she was loudly descending the stairs.

Beth shut her bedroom door tightly and began picking up the mess Merle had made. He was sitting on the bed now, smirking mischievously.

"So that's the big sister you mentioned, huh? She's a lot hotter than all them pictures make 'er out ta be." He let out a low whistle and chuckled to himself. "Awful nosy though, ain't she?"

Beth scoffed, stacking magazines back inside their boxes. "Definitely. She can be pretty controlling, too." She paused and raised her head, giving Merle a meaningful look. "Kinda like you are with Daryl - or _were_."

Merle frowned and narrowed his eyes at her indignantly. "Fuck off, you don't know shit."

Beth merely shrugged and continued cleaning up, smirking to herself.

* * *

The kitchen was empty when she finally went downstairs, though there was a plate of lukewarm waffles and bacon sitting on the table for her as well as a fresh pot of coffee. She looked out the window to see Maggie and their dad off in the distance, brushing down Maggie's favorite mare and happily chatting under the morning sun. Shawn was nearby, changing the shoes on his prized Appaloosa with the help of their cousin Arnold. Otis and Patricia were with them, too.

It appeared everyone was eager to talk with Maggie now that she was home for a few days. Beth hoped this would be a good thing - maybe her sister's presence would distract everyone and she could work on this whole getting rid of Merle thing in peace without having to make up a dozen more lies.

"So you gonna call Daryl or what?" Merle prodded as soon as Beth had sat down and taken two sips of coffee.

She took another long gulp of hot coffee then picked up a piece of bacon and began eating it while also pulling her phone out, unlocking the screen and scrolling through her contacts to check if Daryl had actually left his number. She'd been so exhausted the night before, she hadn't even thought to check. But then again, what reason did she have not to take him at his word?

Sure enough, there was a brand new name in her contacts list: _Daryl Dixon_. And the number was local.

"_Well_?" Merle insisted.

Beth sighed and set her phone down to start in on her waffle. "_Yes_. Can I have some breakfast first? Jeez."

He groaned and stalked out of the room, grumbling under his breath, annoyed and bored with her for the time being. She drained her first cup of coffee in two more swigs.

She kept her phone out, sitting on the table with Daryl's contact info open, her eyes set on it as she finished her breakfast. The more she thought about actually calling him, the more nervous she felt. What if he didn't answer? Or what if he did…? She wasn't sure how to react either way. All she knew for sure was that her next step absolutely _had_ to be driving out to meet the Swamp Witch. The map was still folded and tucked safely inside her purse, and just thinking about pulling it out and trying to navigate her way down to the swamps of Florida made her want to throw up. She had to force down the last couple bites of waffle, followed by another hearty swig of coffee. She had a feeling today would be even longer than yesterday.

Merle appeared at the table while Beth was washing her dishes, startling her when she turned around and noticed him. She shot him a glare and resumed what she was doing.

"I really _hate_ it when you do that," she muttered. "You could at least announce yourself."

"Why? So you can bitch that I talk too much?" He snapped. "You ain't ever happy."

She rolled her eyes and finished up, drying her hands and stepping over to pick up her phone.

"You gonna call him now? _Finally_?"

"_Yes_, I'm calling him," she replied, irritated. Her finger hovered over the Call button on the screen and she frowned, suddenly overcome with self-doubt.

"What're ya waitin' for? He's not asleep, if that's what yer wonderin'," Merle goaded.

"It's not that, I... " She sighed and worried her lower lip. "What if he doesn't answer?"

He lifted his eyebrows and looked at her like she was stupid. "We call 'im again…? The hell else would we do?"

"He _said_ \- "

"He _said_, if ya don't _hear back_ then tough shit. Even if he doesn't answer, we can call again."

"And what if we don't hear back? How long are we supposed to wait?"

Beth looked at Merle expectantly and his gaze flicked away, thoughtful. He chewed on the inside of his cheek for a second before shrugging and replying, "Long as we can."

"That kid said - "

"I _know_ what the fuckin' boy said. I was there too, princess. But I ain't givin' up on my brother. He's stubborn but he always comes around - go on an' mark my words."

She sighed, shaking her head. "I don't think we can operate at your brother's leisure here, Merle. I have ta drive down there today. I _have_ to find out what this witch lady knows."

He sucked his teeth and stared down at the table with a creased brow, arms crossed over his chest. Then he grunted and muttered, "Whatever. Jus' call him already so we can hit the fuckin' road. He'll wanna come along. I _know_ it."

Beth didn't allow herself to hesitate for another moment. She pressed the Call button and put the phone up to her ear, heart beginning to race as the first ring came from the other end. She didn't even realize she was holding her breath until the ringing ceased. She let it out and opened her mouth to speak, only to be interrupted by a robotic voice telling her that she'd reached a voicemail inbox.

She gave Merle a frown and he rolled his eyes, and as soon as she heard the beep on the other end, she spoke into the phone as clearly as she could despite her somewhat shaky voice:

"Hey Daryl, it's Beth. Um… I'm drivin' down there today. To that place on the map. The kid who gave it to me said something really weird about time and waiting too long and - well, I just can't put it off. So if you get this, please call me back." She paused, then added at the last second, "And if you don't, I'm gonna go out there anyway. Really soon - like, today. So don't feel obligated. Okay, um - bye."

She hadn't sounded nearly as confident as she'd hoped but it didn't matter now. She hung up and shoved her phone into her pocket while Merle shook his head and clicked his tongue disapprovingly.

"Left a voicemail, huh? Good luck. I used ta leave him voicemails all the time but he never fuckin' called _me_ back."

"Prob'ly 'cause you were always drunk or high or somethin'," she mumbled.

"That don't matter," he quipped.

She was about to argue back but just then, the back door opened. She spun around to see Hershel and Maggie entering the kitchen, all smiles and laughter and joyful chitchat. Merle went silent at the table, smirking like he was watching an entertaining show.

"Mornin', Doodlebug," Hershel greeted, stepping in and giving Beth a peck on the forehead. "Good to see you decided ta join' the living today." He smiled, a playful spark in his bright blue eyes.

"Sorry, Daddy. I meant to be up earlier but Judith wore me out yesterday," Beth smiled innocently.

He chuckled and nodded. "It's alright, I know she can be a handful sometimes. You deserve to sleep in every now an' then."

"Did you leave us any coffee?" Maggie asked, striding over to the half-empty coffee pot and grabbing herself a clean mug. She turned around and held the mug up, squinting at it and pointing with her other hand for Beth to see. "What's this - did you wash this? It's all spotty."

Beth glanced at her sister and scowled, turning away and choosing to ignore her. She put on a pleasant smile for her dad and told him, "Rick's working overtime today, I forgot to tell you last night. I - "

"I already told him you're ditching us to go babysit," Maggie interrupted, pouring coffee into her 'spotty' mug.

"It's okay, Mags," Hershel assured. "Beth made a _commitment_, she needs to stick to it. If she told Rick she'd babysit for him today, there's no need to go back on her word. We can plan just fine without her." He nodded to Beth and asked her, "You need the truck again?"

Beth nodded, wondering if there was something she was missing. But she didn't put too much thought into it. Her head was already full of planning out her drive to the swamp and worrying that Daryl wouldn't call back.

"The keys are where you left them," Hershel said. "Just don't stay out too late tonight, okay? Glenn will be here soon and I'd like us all to have a nice family breakfast together in the morning."

She didn't ask why Glenn was coming down and sticking around for the memorial dinner when he'd never stayed before, but she didn't really care either. She figured this was just part of Maggie having a steady boyfriend for once so she'd probably better get used to it. Daddy seemed to like him, at least. And it wasn't like Beth had any qualms with the guy. He'd been nothing but kind and caring and respectful since the first time Maggie brought him around. It was just… Beth kind of thought it was a little _soon_ to be allowing him to join in on anything involving Mama's anniversary - someone he'd never even met. Wasn't it a little too early to be considering him family?

But then again, what did she know? She'd only had two _real_ boyfriends and neither had reached the point of being serious, let alone anything more than a high school romance. Maggie was the one with all the experience in that area.

And Beth knew better than to try and disagree with anything her big sister did.

* * *

Beth spent as much time as she could waiting around for Daryl to call back. She promised her dad that she'd feed the chickens before she left, which she did - while Merle meandered around and grumbled under his breath about how stubborn his little brother was. When she was done with the chickens, she decided to attempt another call. What could it hurt?

He didn't answer. She didn't bother leaving another voicemail nor did she send a text, even though Merle was insisting that she should. Daryl would respond if he wanted and she knew that blowing up his phone wouldn't make him respond any faster. Or at all.

She killed another twenty minutes in her bedroom by making sure she had everything she needed and attempting to map her route on GPS. It would be a hefty five or six-hour drive, depending on how well she could navigate the northern swamps of Florida. But the hand-drawn map that she'd been given led her down a lot of backroads and through lesser-known, mostly abandoned areas. She wasn't even sure she would have cell reception throughout the whole trip. So she resorted to memorizing the map as best she could, hoping she didn't end up lost somewhere in the swamps with no service to find her way back. She also hoped that her dad wouldn't notice the 700-something new miles that would suddenly be added to the truck's mileage - but that was a problem to deal with another time and easily the very least of her worries.

An hour passed without any word from Daryl and Beth had grown so antsy, she couldn't sit still. She knew she couldn't waste any more time if she wanted to get back home before 3 am. Wordlessly, she gathered her things and headed for the truck, grabbing the keys on her way out the door. Merle followed, practically bouncing on his heels and talking about driving out to Daryl's work and forcing him to come along. She ignored this preposterous idea and focused on calming her nerves before climbing behind the wheel.

Hershel and Maggie were out in Annette's old garden at the side of the house and Beth waved goodbye to them as she climbed into the big black Ford. Merle appeared in the passenger seat before she'd put the keys in the ignition.

"That sister of yers is somethin' else," he muttered casually, gazing out the window and watching Beth's dad and sister as she put the truck into gear and began driving down the driveway toward the road.

"_Mmhmm_," Beth hummed, only half-listening. She checked both ways before pulling out into the road and speeding away from the farm.

He chuckled quietly and shook his head. "I mean, shit - why's she gotta play all coy with that damn ring? If she wanted ya to acknowledge it, why didn't she just _say_ somethin'? Fuckin' women. They're all like that, I tell ya."

_Ring?_ Beth furrowed her brow and glanced at him questioningly. "What're you talking about?"

"How all you females expect everybody ta be goddamn mindreaders or some shit. It's ridiculous, if ya ask me. I - "

"What _ring_?"

He scoffed. "Shit - ya mean you _really_ didn't notice, blondie? She wasn't exactly bein' inconspicuous about it. I thought you were just ignorin' it…"

She blinked and gripped the steering wheel a little tighter, replaying her conversations with Maggie. That's when it finally clicked: that hand she kept lifting for no reason… her _left _hand. There'd been a brand new ring sparkling on the third finger.

_Shit_, Beth thought. _No wonder she was being so passive-aggressive. She was trying to get me to notice. And so was Daddy. But I'm so damn distracted with everything else today._

She groaned and sighed heavily. "Of course… Glenn must've proposed. That's probably why he's comin' down for the memorial. _Ugh_ \- now she's gonna be even more pissed that I didn't congratulate her right away."

Merle laughed, all too amused by her multitude of problems.

"Well you jus' keep diggin' yerself into a deeper an' deeper hole, dont'cha sweetheart?"

**to be continued...**


	13. Highway To Hell aka Florida

**Highway To Hell aka Florida**

Beth attempted one last call to Daryl after she'd driven about ten or fifteen miles away from the farm. Merle was only on his second cigarette but his complaints were getting louder and she was debating on drowning him out with the radio. But then she figured one more call wouldn't hurt anything - at the very least, it would appease Merle for the time being and maybe herself, too. It wasn't like she expected Daryl to answer this time, but she wouldn't have been able to stop thinking about it if she didn't at least try.

As expected, the phone rang and rang and rang until it went to voicemail. She sighed in defeat when the robotic voice filled her ear. And when the beep sounded, she left one final message:

"It's me again. I just left my house, me an' Merle are almost twenty miles out. I've got the map and my phone charger so if you get some wild hair up your ass and feel like givin' me a call back or a courtesy text or something, that might be nice. But if I don't hear back, I'll take the hint. See you around, Daryl Dixon."

She set her phone aside and cranked up the radio before she could hear whatever smartass comment Merle was making. And when he began to speak louder over the music, she shot him a scathing glare and rolled his window down a few more inches, signaling for him to keep smoking and shut his damn mouth.

_I'll do this alone if I have to,_ Beth thought, determined and a bit resentful._ I don't need you, Daryl. Even if the Swamp Witch thinks I do. I'll figure it out my damn self… Just like I always have._

* * *

Beth drove for nearly an hour after her final call to Daryl, too lost in her own head to even acknowledge Merle. He chain-smoked the whole time, grumbling angrily under his breath in between singing along to old country songs. She knew he would only get unhappier the further they drove but she couldn't say she really cared. She had this little hope in the back of her mind that kept her foot heavy on the gas pedal, like a repetitive prayer that whatever lay at the end of this long drive would be her key to getting rid of him forever.

She knew better than to get her hopes up like this, but she couldn't help it. She kept picturing a kind and wizened old woman living in a shack out in the swamps, eager to help Beth and banish Merle from the mortal plane. But if Beth had learned anything in her 24 years of life, it was that nothing ever works out quite the way you want it to - no matter how hard you hope or wish or pray for it. And that most things don't even turn out the way you always imagined they would.

She checked the map frequently, cross-referencing with her GPS to ensure that she was going the right way. As she reached the top of a hill, a fork in the road came into view in the distance. The mid-morning sun was so bright that she couldn't see much except the clear split in the road and the two completely different routes leading in parallel yet near-opposite directions. She slowed back down to the posted speed limit and grabbed the map to check it again and reassure herself of which road to follow.

When she looked back up, she suddenly realized there was something sitting in the center of the crossroads. She squinted through the windshield and tried to identify it, slowing down a bit more. Then it was closer and she finally recognized the familiar sight.

Daryl and his damn bike.

"What the - "

"Well would ya look at that, blondie!"

Beth reached over and turned off the radio, speeding up just enough to zip through the last bit of road separating her from the fork. Then she stopped rather abruptly, causing Merle to drop his cigarette out the window and curse her name. But she didn't even notice because she was staring slack-jawed at Daryl, who was sitting so casually on his silent bike with a cigarette in his hand. And he was staring back like he'd been waiting for her, yet he didn't so much as wave or make any attempt to flag her down.

She pulled to the side of the road and rolled down her window. "Why didn't you call me back?!"

He shrugged and tossed his cigarette to the ground, hopping off the bike and walking up closer to the driver side of the truck, though he kept several feet of distance. "Wanted ta see just how full a shit you are."

She scoffed. "What - you were just gonna sit here an' wait all day to see if I was actually going or not?"

He stroked his goatee with one hand and gave her a nonchalant half-nod. "Not _all_ day. Only had ta wait an hour. Sure took yer sweet time, though."

She glared back at him indignantly. "I was waiting for you to call me back!"

He grunted. "Whatever. I got yer damn messages an' I'm here now."

"How'd you even know I'd come this way?"

"Had that map long enough ta memorize it. Wasn't hard - I already know all the backroads clear down to the state line."

"Like the back of his hand," Merle chided proudly from the passenger seat, chuckling.

Beth sighed, already exhausted with the living Dixon. But she couldn't be _too_ upset because this meant he'd actually looked at the map and contemplated this trip. And it meant he was going to help her and hell, she _really_ didn't think he was going to come around like this. Not today and possibly not ever.

"See, I _told_ you his bitch-ass would come around," Merle remarked. "I'll bet he's finally startin' ta feel guilty 'bout the way he treated me before I was killed."

She ignored him. She was pleasantly surprised but she couldn't smile just yet.

"So you're coming?" She asked Daryl, eyebrows raised expectantly.

"Now that I know you weren't bullshittin' about goin' ta see this Witch broad? Yeah."

"The _Swamp_ Witch. You know it's like a five-hour drive, right?"

"No shit," he replied. "All the way down in bumfuck-nowhere Florida. Might as well make sure ya ain't gonna get yerself lost or murdered by swamp people or somethin'."

Beth rolled her eyes but didn't argue. "Well I'm glad you finally came to see reason. Trust me, I wouldn't be driving this far if I wasn't absolutely _desperate_."

"_Uh-huh_," he grunted. "Desperate. Crazy. Whatever ya wanna call it."

She chose to ignore that. "So are you gonna follow on yer bike or what?"

"_My_ bike," Merle grumbled.

Daryl huffed out a humorless half-laugh and said, "Fuck no. I ain't drivin' through all them swamps." He gestured to the bed of the truck and said, "I'll load it up in the back an' ride with ya."

She shrugged. "Okay, but _I'm_ driving."

He gave her a look and muttered, "No shit."

Several minutes later, Daryl was loading his bike up using a big piece of old plywood that had been left in the bed of the truck. When he finished, he shut the tailgate firmly and went around to the passenger side. Beth sat waiting in the driver's seat, looking at Merle with an expectant expression. He took the hint and disappeared just as Daryl opened the door and hopped up into the passenger seat. The dead Dixon reappeared in the slightly smaller backseat of the extended cab. He might've protested or even complained in any other situation, but considering he was getting what he wanted - his brother joining them - he remained mostly silent. There was a grin of elation plastered to his face and he kept chuckling, squirming in his seat like a child who'd had too much sugar and rubbing his hands together like a cartoon villain with a diabolical plan.

He stamped his feet on the floorboard excitedly and chanted, "Road. Trip! Road. Trip! Road. Trip!"

_Yeah, road trip - but sure as hell not the kinda road trip I'm excited for,_ she thought, annoyed.

"You smoke?" Daryl asked as he put on his seatbelt.

Beth shifted into Drive and paused, looking over at him quizzically. "No, why?"

"Reeks like cigarettes. Smells like you been smokin' in here fer months or somethin'," he said.

"You can _smell_ that?" She asked, shocked.

"Uh… yeah," he replied.

She sighed and shook her head, pulling out and beginning to head down the road. "It's your brother. He's been chain-smoking in here - right where you're sitting."

Daryl merely _hmm_ed thoughtfully at that and she could see the look of uncertainty on his face from the corner of her eye. It was understandable, she guessed. It would take some time to get used to the whole… _ghost brother _thing. But at least he was finally accepting it as real and not some methed-up hallucination.

"So… where is he now?"

"Right here, asshole. So ya best watch how you talk about me or I might just crash this fuckin' truck before we even _get_ to Florida."

Beth shot Merle a scolding side-eye over her shoulder, then told Daryl, "He's here. In the backseat. And he's threatening to crash the truck if you talk _bad_ about him - like some kinda little kid throwin' a fit."

Daryl scoffed and gazed out the window. "Fuckin' Merle."

_Tell me about it, _she thought.

* * *

Daryl was quiet for the majority of the long drive south.

Beth tried to make small talk after ten or fifteen minutes of complete silence, attempting to ease the awkward tension that seemed to be hanging between them (or maybe it was just _her_ who felt awkward, because he seemed pretty damn relaxed in the passenger seat).

Even Merle was remaining oddly quiet, which made her more uneasy than anything. Silence meant he was _thinking_, and nothing good had ever come from that.

"So, um… where d'you work?" She asked, keeping her gaze on the road but constantly glancing over at Daryl from the corner of her eye.

He looked over at her with a slightly quizzical expression and muttered, "Tire shop in Senoia."

"Oh, so you're a mechanic?"

"Yeah."

"He's better at casin' houses," Merle chimed in from the backseat. "Damn waste of his talents workin' at that shitty li'l tire shop."

Beth ignored his remarks, though she couldn't help but look at Daryl in a slightly different light once the words had resonated.

Was he still… a criminal? Or was that something he'd left behind since Merle died?

_And I've been trying to get __**him**__ to trust __**me**__,_ she thought. _Maybe it should be the other way around. But if he was so bad, my daddy wouldn't want nothing to do with him. And Dad knows everything about everybody. So…?_

"Talkin' with my buddy about openin' up a bike shop," Daryl mumbled, gazing out the window at the passing blur of trees. "Might end up doin' that sometime next year."

Beth perked up at this and said, "Really? That would be cool. I dunno how much business you'd get in Senoia, though."

"Yeah, we'd prob'ly do it in Atlanta. Been thinkin' about movin' anyhow. 'M gettin' sick of the small town shit."

"_What_?!" Merle cried, outraged. "So now that I'm dead, you think you can just move on an' start some kinda new and improved, _Merle-free_ life? You don't fuckin' _belong_ in Atlanta, baby brother - we done pissed off too many people in the ol' ATL."

Beth shot him a scowl and mouthed, "_Shut the fuck up_." Daryl turned his head to look at her and she quickly met his gaze with a smile.

"I think that sounds like a good plan. I've been wantin' ta get outta Senoia for a while, too. My sister moved to the city and I was gonna follow her eventually. I just kinda… got stuck, I guess. It was all paycheck-to-paycheck and the next thing I knew, years had passed." Her smile faded as she stared ahead.

Daryl grunted. "Yup. That's how it happens." He went back to gazing out the passenger window.

There was a long moment of silence and it immediately began to feel awkward again. Beth attempted to fill it once more.

"So… you live alone? Or like, with roommates - "

"Alright see, now this is what we're _not_ gonna do," Daryl cut her off, turning and giving her a stern expression that made her lips snap shut and her shoulders tense up. "We ain't makin' small talk, gettin' ta be _friends_ or somethin'. Yer daddy might treat me nice but that's 'cause he's a real old-fashioned kinda guy - it don't mean he'd want his _precious_ baby girl associating with some no-good Dixon boy. And I ain't about ta start worryin' about Hershel Greene knockin' on my door fer another li'l _catch-up_."

Merle began cracking up in the backseat. Beth was taken aback, cheeks growing hot as she gripped the steering wheel tightly and bit her tongue.

She frowned and _hmph_ed loudly. "I was just tryin' ta be _polite_. I _am_ a grown woman, ya know - my dad doesn't control who I _associate_ with. Besides, you already made _yourself_ into my chaperone today. I was fully prepared to do this all alone."

Daryl scoffed and said condescendingly, "Sure ya were. Prob'ly get yerself killed in the process. Or sex-trafficked or some shit."

Beth rolled her eyes. "Okay, _Mr. Dixon_," she quipped sarcastically. Then she added, "I asked for your help because it's _your_ brother, not because I need somebody to _protect_ me."

"Whatever, Greene. Jus' keep drivin' and don't get us lost."

She bit her lower lip and held back another retort. Then she thought to herself, _Well… at least he doesn't call me blondie._

* * *

Daryl didn't seem to mind the silence in the truck one bit, though he pulled out his pack of smokes and began smoking out the passenger window about half an hour into the drive. Merle did the same in the backseat, staying so quiet that it became unnerving. Beth wondered if she'd made things more awkward or if she was just overthinking the whole situation. Maybe Daryl was right: maybe they didn't need to try and be friends to get through this thing. Besides, what good could come from being friends with Merle's little brother?

But a part of her wanted to reach out and connect. They obviously had some things in common, and now they were thrown into this entirely abnormal experience together for inexplicable reasons. What if they were _supposed _to be in each other's lives for some reason? What if it was, like… destiny or something? Or _Fate_, like that crock Jadis had talked about?

_He's different than Merle, but is he different enough? _She wondered.

Beth abandoned that train of thought as soon as she realized she'd accidentally boarded it. With a quick glance over at Daryl, who was gazing thoughtfully out the window and smoking his cigarette with the wind whipping his shaggy hair back, she reached over and turned on the radio. Old country music filled the cab and pushed out all the awkward silence that had lingered. Daryl didn't look over or acknowledge her, but his foot began to softly tap on the floorboard along to the music. She let out a breath of relief and focused on the song.

Another half-hour passed. Beth was growing restless. And then another hour. Daryl remained perfectly content with chain-smoking and listening to the radio while staring out the window in complete silence. Then another half-hour. Merle was looking more and more bored in the backseat, scowling and occasionally mumbling to himself between smokes.

They were nearing the halfway point of the trip, driving through what was most likely the last sign of civilization they'd encounter before embarking on the second half of their journey - a tiny town with a handful of rundown houses and very limited businesses. After this, it was nothing but backroads and swamps and routes that Beth never knew existed. She spotted a gas station and slowed down, switching lanes and preparing to turn in. Daryl didn't ask what they were doing, though Merle made a comment about filling the tank up as full as possible for when she would "inevitably get them lost out in the middle of nowhere."

Beth filled up the truck while Daryl went inside and used the restroom and bought some drinks and cigarettes. And after he'd returned, Beth went inside and did the same - minus the cigarettes, of course. She also grabbed some snacks, though she hadn't even given a thought to lunch or any other meal. Her stomach was twisted up into too many knots because all she could think about was meeting the Swamp Witch and dealing with Daryl. But she'd noticed that he hadn't bought anything to eat and she wasn't so sure there'd be a drive-thru to hit anytime in the near future, so she picked out a few things that she assumed he would like.

They hit the road again and left the town behind them. Country music filled the cab of the truck - and Beth's head - for the next hour. She was so focused on driving that she hadn't so much as glanced in Daryl's direction. But when he suddenly reached over and began fiddling with the radio knob, cutting off _Folsom Prison Blues_ right in the middle of the chorus, she snapped to attention.

"Hey!" Merle protested from the backseat. "I loved that song! Turn it back!"

Beth didn't say anything, looking at Daryl quizzically as he tuned through countless channels full of static. He could feel her eyes on him and said, "Fuckin' hate that song. Merle played it all the goddamn time."

"Yeah, 'cause it's a _good fuckin' song_!" Merle objected angrily. "Nobody turns off the Man In Black on _my_ watch."

The radio suddenly clicked back over to the classic country station and Daryl yanked his hand away, shocked. "What the _fuck_?"

Beth glanced back at Merle and saw him grinning mischievously. She pursed her lips to stifle the smirk that wanted to appear, feeling guilty for almost wanting to laugh. Daryl reached out and changed the station again, only to have it switch right back. He growled, frustrated, and turned the knob so hard that he nearly broke it off.

"Hey! Careful - this is my _dad's_ truck," she snapped. "It's bad enough I gotta find a way to get the cigarette smell out, I don't need a broken radio, too."

He looked at her and frowned, gesturing angrily to the radio. "Fuckin' thing's _already_ broken."

"Not yet," Merle quipped, cackling.

"No, it's _not_," she told the living Dixon matter-of-factly. "_Merle_ is changing it back. He's messing with you."

Daryl scoffed and changed the station again but the song had just ended so Merle didn't intervene this time. He was still chuckling over his little prank, all too proud of himself for finding new ways to be a menace.

There weren't many stations to choose from as they got further and further away from civilization. Daryl was tuning through mostly static, passing by an R&B station, a punk/ska station, a metal station, and a Top 40 station before pausing on a modern country station. He let it play for several seconds and Beth was hoping he would pull his hand away because she actually liked what was playing, but then he groaned and turned the knob to more static.

"Aww, I like that song," she commented, disappointed.

"I hate Toby Keith," he growled.

She furrowed her brow. "That wasn't Toby Keith, it was - "

"I don't give a fuck _who_ it is," Daryl snapped, shooting her a scowl. Then he returned to focusing on finding another station that wasn't static. Merle laughed obnoxiously.

Beth rolled her eyes and reminded herself that the Swamp Witch was close, which meant she was close to returning to her normal, _peaceful _life. The Swamp Witch meant _answers_, and answers meant Beth wouldn't have to deal with the exhausting Dixon brothers ever again.

Daryl stopped tuning the radio when he came across a station that was playing _Maniac_, which Beth had only ever heard in movies. When he pulled his hand away and sat back, satisfied, she turned her head and gave him a puzzled look.

"What?"

She shrugged, turning back to focus on the road and trying not to smile. "Nothing. 'S just - doesn't seem like the kinda music you'd like."

He grunted in response and gazed out the window, though she could see the tips of his ears turning pink from where they peeked out of his dark hair. "'S a decent song. Grew on me after my roommate played it fer two months straight."

Beth raised her eyebrows but tried not to sound like she was attempting to make small talk or '_be his friend_.' "Oh? Does yer roommate like eighties music or somethin'?"

Daryl shrugged, speaking more toward the open window than her, "Eighties, seventies, nineties - ain't all _good_ but some of it's pretty bearable. She can't dance but she likes ta think she can."

The song ended before Beth could figure out a way to inquire more about this mysterious female roommate, and then Merle was commenting snidely from behind Daryl, "You _still_ livin' with that bitch? She ain't ever gonna put out, Darylina. Thought you woulda figured that out an' moved on by now."

Beth worried her lower lip for a long moment, hesitating. Then she said, "Sounds like Merle doesn't like your roommate."

Daryl whipped his head around and stared across the cab at her, eyes narrowed and jaw clenched. "He never did. He was always on that immature, jealous bullshit - what's he sayin' about 'er?"

"_Fuck_ you!" Merle spat furiously.

Beth swallowed hard and tried to stay focused on driving. "He's… just mad. I dunno. He says he thought you would've 'moved on' by now."

Daryl scoffed. "He's _still_ on that? Jesus Christ - I guess death don't do much fer bein' an ignorant bastard."

Merle growled and cursed, "You stupid sonuva fuckin'..."

"What - why is he so _mad_? Who's this roommate?" She asked, silently praying that Merle hadn't been serious when he'd threatened to crash the truck if Daryl pissed him off too much.

Daryl reached into his jeans pocket and dug out his phone, briefly showing the screen to Beth: his wallpaper was a photo of him standing with a slender, short-haired woman and a preteen redheaded girl and a full-grown German Shepherd. She only caught a glimpse since she was driving and he barely gave her time to take it in, but it was enough to tell her that he had a whole life outside of his brother and whatever they'd been doing when Merle was alive.

"That's her? Who's the kid?" She asked curiously. "And you have a _dog_?"

"Stupid bitch an' her stupid runt - and fuck that dumbass dog, too," Merle grumbled, though Beth was tuning him out at this point.

Daryl shrugged and shoved his phone back into his pocket. "That's _her_ kid. The dad's a real piece a shit - abusive an' good fer nothin'. He's in jail. Mostly thanks to Rick."

"Is that how you met? Through Rick? Seems like he knows everybody in Senoia."

"Yeah. She ain't really got nobody she can trust an' neither do I. Nobody besides Rick, I s'pose. We're friends - Merle's stupid ass ain't ever been able to see women as anything more than sex dolls so he's prob'ly pissed 'cause I don't wanna _fuck_ her." He scoffed, shaking his head with disapproval. Merle was muttering angrily in the back. Then Daryl added, "And she found that damn dog in a junkyard an' brought him home a few months ago. Now the damn thing sleeps in my bed every night."

He grunted in conclusion but it was more like a half-chuckle, and when Beth glanced over at him, she saw the corner of his mouth tugging up into a smirk just before he turned his face back toward the passenger window.

She couldn't help but smile and giggle softly. "What'd you name him?"

"Dog."

"That's not a name!"

"Says who?"

She shrugged and conceded, letting out a laugh. "Well it's not very original."

He didn't respond, going quiet and returning to smoking cigarettes out the window. The radio commercials ended and the DJ came on, overly enthusiastic as they announced, "And here we are, creeping up closer and closer to Halloween - don't forget, folks! It's just around the corner! Better get those costumes ready and stock up on that candy. And to celebrate everyone's favorite spooky season, we have Michael Jackson's _Thriller_ coming up! But first: a timeless classic by Rockwell…"

Music began to fill the cab of the truck once again. Beth recognized _Somebody's Watching Me_ but she couldn't remember the last time she'd actually listened to it. Daryl began tapping his foot along to the song.

"_...hey, hell I pay the price! All I want is to be left alone, in my average home, but why do I always feel like I'm in the Twilight Zone? And - I always feel like, somebody's watchin' me…_"

To her surprise, Merle's anger subsided for the time being and he began laughing again. She glanced in the rearview mirror and saw him bobbing his head along to the song. He began snapping his fingers to the beat, still laughing.

"Hey, blondie! This could be _our_ song!" He cackled and went on to sing along completely off-tune, "_People say I'm crazy - just a little touched! …I always feel like, somebody's watchin' me-e-e-e! And I have no privacy!_"

Beth sighed and shook her head, keeping her gaze focused forward. Daryl glanced over at her curiously but she pretended not to notice.

She pressed her foot down a little harder on the gas pedal and hoped the final miles would pass as quickly as possible.

* * *

The route turned out to be fairly easy to figure out for the first 5 hours or so. Admittedly, having Daryl's help certainly made it easier. There were some turns and some backroads that Beth might've missed otherwise, but he made sure to double-check the map and keep her in the right direction.

They'd passed over the state line without incident and before she knew it, Beth found herself driving deeper and deeper into the swampier areas outside of Jacksonville. She took backroads and detours that she wouldn't have known existed if it weren't for the map, bypassing suburbs and dinky little towns. The trees were thicker out here, the grass taller, and the smell of stagnant water filled the air. The humidity was heavy as a blanket, reminding her of why she was glad she didn't live this far south. She peeled off her cardigan and rolled up her long sleeves, though Daryl seemed unaffected despite the perspiration forming on his forehead and making his hair stick to his skin.

She'd been driving for nearly three hours since the gas station stop and according to the map, they were approaching the big red X. They were in full swamp territory now, driving through mud and potholes and slowing down beneath the looming shadows of towering trees and canopies of thick greenery. It was oddly quiet out here - there was no hint of any other vehicles or human life. The big, thick cypress and mangrove and willow branches made the sunlight dimmer, as though evening were falling early on this particular part of the earth. They were surrounded by the cries of birds and the croaking of bullfrogs, far-off splashes within the numerous bodies of water around the narrow road. And once Daryl had turned off the radio (in order to focus better on finding their destination), Beth could've swore she heard a couple of low growls from outside. She tried not to think about all the predatory creatures that lived out here and the fact that she was in _their_ territory now.

Merle must've heard them too, because he leaned up and muttered ominously in her ear, "We're in gator country now…"

She ignored him, keeping a steady speed of no more than 25 mph.

"You ever seen a gator before, blondie? They're _real_ mean," he added before cackling mischievously. "They taste better'an they look, though."

Beth scrunched up her nose at the thought of eating fried alligator - which she'd heard of but had never had the guts to try - and glanced over at Daryl. He was sitting up straight, watching dutifully through the windshield with the map grasped in his hands for reference.

Just as she looked back toward the road, he pointed and asked, "What the hell is _that_?"

She searched around for what he was pointing at and saw some slight movement in the tallgrass and moss at the side of the road up ahead.

"Better slow down - might be a deer," he said.

She'd already taken her foot off the gas pedal in preparation, waiting for whatever was about to appear from the grass and cross the road. They were still a good 50 feet away and she'd slowed the truck until it was barely crawling down the muddy path. Finally, the animal emerged.

Beth gasped and slammed on the brakes while Daryl muttered, "_Holy_ _shit_." But Merle let out a bark of laughter.

It definitely wasn't a deer - it was an alligator. Fully grown, from the looks of it, and no less than 12 feet long. It slithered from its hiding place out into the road, moving with leisure. Beth and Daryl stared with wide eyes and slackened jaws as it paused, turned its huge scaly head, and looked directly at them. Then it gave a snap of its monstrous jaw and hissed loudly before turning back and crossing the road, scaly tail swaying behind its hefty body. The gator disappeared into the tallgrass on the other side and a few seconds later, there was an audible _splash_ of water.

"That's God's perfect killin' machine right there," Merle drawled.

"Glad I didn't bring my fuckin' bike out here," Daryl muttered as Beth slowly drove forward and returned to her cautious speed.

"No kidding," she agreed, still stunned by the sight of an actual, real life alligator. And a huge one at that. Of all the times she'd been to Florida, she'd never actually seen one outside of a zoo until today. Of course, her family had always gone to the beach or the cities - not the swamps. "That thing looked... "

"Healthy," Daryl finished for her.

She chuckled. "Yeah, _healthy_."

* * *

Ten minutes later, they took their final turn onto a rutted and muddy path that was almost completely overgrown with plant life. Beth would have missed it if Daryl hadn't been scouring every detail while the truck crawled down the road at 15 mph. She slowed down to 10 as they passed beneath low-hanging branches and Spanish moss. Most everything around them was shallow water and cattails and mossy tree trunks, twigs and leaves scraping against all sides of the vehicle. They rolled their windows up and leaned forward in their seats, staring through the windshield and searching for any sign of human inhabitance. Merle was silent in the backseat, gazing out the window with wide eyes and a look of fascination.

Then the thick canopy of greenery broke and they emerged into a wide clearing surrounded by huge willow and mangrove and cypress trees, Spanish moss hanging from every exposed branch, thick trunks twisting and climbing. The swamp went on into deeper water farther out, mud and moss and cattails at every edge. But in the distance was a house perched on the edge of the water with a wooden boardwalk wrapping around it and leading from the back of the house down through the mud, winding all the way to just past the end of the narrow road.

And standing in the middle of the road was a tall, balding white man leaning on a walking stick.

"That's not the _kid_ you met… is it?" Daryl asked, voice low and ominous.

Beth's heart skipped and she pressed her foot down on the brake pedal, bringing the truck to a complete stop. Merle let out a low whistle from the backseat.

"No," she said quietly, blood draining from her face. "Definitely not."

Daryl unclicked his seatbelt and reached into the waistband of his jeans to retrieve something and she looked over at him curiously. Her mouth fell open and her eyes went wide when he pulled out a handgun and cocked it meaningfully. The loud _click-click_ echoed inside the cab, immediately followed by a high-pitched laugh of amusement from Merle. Daryl wrapped his right hand around the handle of the firearm and kept his trigger finger against the side, stiffened cautiously. He made sure not to raise it any higher than his lap, concealed by the dashboard and the tinted windows.

"You brought a _gun_?" Beth squeaked. "Daryl…!"

He looked over at her with a creased brow, frowning. "Yer goddamn right I brought a gun. Had ta have _somethin'_ ta protect us in case shit went sideways."

Merle barked out with laughter again and commented, "That's _my_ brother! Us Dixons always stay strapped - at leas' that part ain't changed."

Beth glanced through the windshield at the mystery man again: he was wearing mud-stained blue jeans and black rubber wading boots that went up to his knees, a loose-flowing and oversized moss green T-shirt covering his torso and making him appear a bit larger than he actually was. Though he _was_ fairly large - he couldn't have been less than 6'4" and probably close to 300 pounds from the looks of his thick legs and arms, broad shoulders, and prominent beer belly. She guessed he was no older than 50, and she was beginning to think that he appeared… harmless. And _unarmed_ besides the walking stick in his hand. But she quickly reminded herself that looks could be deceiving.

He was just _standing there_. Staring at them. Waiting.

"Alrigh' - you stay here. I'll go see what he wants," Daryl said quietly, reaching over to grab the door handle.

Beth's hand shot out and grabbed his shoulder instinctually to stop him. "Wait!"

He paused and looked at her with a furrowed brow.

"I'm comin' with you," she said.

"The fuck you are," he protested. "Jus' _stay here_. This could be one a those batshit swamp people - I ain't tryin' ta see you end up on a spit over some cannibal's campfire tonight."

"Ain't you ever seen _The Hills Have Eyes_, blondie?" Merle chided from the backseat. "It's like that, but in Florida - so they're all on bath salts _and _inbred." He laughed loudly at his own stupid joke.

She ignored Merle and scoffed at Daryl, arguing, "So what, I'm s'posed ta just sit here an' watch while _you_ get taken by the cannibals?"

Daryl gestured to the gun in his hand and gave her an indignant look. "No - yer s'posed ta have the truck ready ta haul ass outta here once I _shoot_ the fucker."

Beth rolled her eyes and shook her head. "No - that's _not_ how this is gonna go, Daryl. I'm coming with you and we can talk to him _together_. Who knows, maybe he's like the Swamp Witch's _doorman_ or something?"

He grunted and reached for the door handle again. "Ain't no _doormen_ out in these parts, Greene. Just gators an' inbreds."

"He's got a point," Merle chimed in. "Are you _trying_ ta get turned into somebody's lampshade tonight, princess?"

But she ignored both of them and hastily unclicked her seatbelt, opening her door and hopping out just as Daryl was doing the same. He shot her a disapproving look over the hood of the truck and slammed his door shut. She frowned back and slammed hers as well, then quickly followed him when he began taking long strides toward the waiting man.

Her boots _squick_ed in the mud and she struggled to catch up with him as he stalked forward with purpose, gun clasped in his palm but kept low and hidden discreetly behind his leg. Her heart raced and if she'd thought she felt nervous on the long drive here, it was nothing compared to how nervous she felt now. She fought to keep her hands from trembling as she and Daryl approached the tall man, who didn't move a single muscle aside from his eyes while he watched them coming closer. He kept his arms hanging loosely as his sides, one hand loosely leaning on the walking stick, head held high. There was a kind smile on his face.

They stopped in the middle of the road, keeping a safe distance between them and the man. Instantly, Daryl put out his left arm in a protective motion, signaling for Beth to stay behind him. She remained a few steps back without objection.

The man looked them both up and down and his smile grew wider. Then he glanced past them, toward the truck, and chuckled softly. Beth could see Daryl's mouth twitching, like he was about to speak up. But the tall man spoke first, his voice soft and kind and deep and, quite frankly, anything but threatening.

"You're early."

Beth parted her lips to respond but the words fell away before they'd formed. The strange man's smile grew wider.

"_Good_. Follow me. We've been preparing for y'all."

**to be continued...**

* * *

**A/N: **I've decided that "Somebody's Watching Me" by Rockwell is the official theme song for this fic.


	14. No, This Is Tabitha

**No, This Is Tabitha**

The tall man began to turn as if to start leading them forward without explanation, but Beth stepped forward until she was next to Daryl and spoke up.

"Are you the Swamp Witch?" She asked.

The man paused and faced her once more, appearing a bit puzzled. Then he chuckled and shook his head. "_Swamp Witch_? No, I'm definitely not."

"Then who are you?" Daryl barked a little too defensively, eyeing the walking stick in the man's hand.

He smiled understandingly and replied, "I live here, too. We're friends."

"So yer like - the doorman," Beth blurted out. Her cheeks immediately went pink and she snapped her mouth shut. The balding man frowned, but then he shrugged.

"Sure. If that's what you wanna call it," he said simply.

She exchanged a look with Daryl: _Told you._ He scowled back and grunted unhappily.

"So y'all knew we was comin', huh? _How_?" He asked, eyes narrowed at the tall man. She could see his arm flexing as his hand tightened around the gun concealed against his jeans.

The other man raised his eyebrows and gestured towards the purse resting against Beth's hip. "Well you certainly didn't get that map by accident. No one knows about this place unless we want them to."

Beth swallowed hard and looked over at Daryl, whose brow was creased as he continued staring unblinking at the tall man, glancing at the walking stick precariously. Then she took a couple steps forward before he could stop her or object.

She reached out a hand. "I'm Beth Greene."

The balding man smiled warmly and reached out to shake her hand. He bowed his head and responded, "Nice to meet you, Miss Greene. I'm Eastman. Now if your recently deceased passenger would join us, we can be on our way back to the house."

Her jaw dropped open and she blinked dumbly, slowly pulling her hand away before looking back at Daryl. He appeared a bit dumbfounded, too.

"Y'all can leave the truck here, won't nothin' happen to it," Eastman assured.

"That ain't what I'm worried about," Daryl growled, still eyeing the other man suspiciously as he slipped the gun back into his waistband - no longer attempting any sort of discretion.

"You were all three invited so you won't be harmed. I can promise you," Eastman told him, apparently unfazed by the sight of the weapon.

"Won't be _us_ that gets harmed."

"Daryl, that's _enough_," Beth snapped, shooting him a sideways glare. She looked back to Eastman, hopeful, and asked, "You can see Merle? In the truck?"

He grinned and said simply, "Plain as day."

Then there was a rustling of grass from the greenery at the side of the road. Beth quickly looked towards the source of the sound and her heart dropped to her feet. She froze, petrified as her blood went cold.

"Jesus _FUCK_ \- get back, Beth!" Daryl cried out, alarmed.

She didn't even feel Daryl's hand on her arm until he was jerking her backward, immediately yanking her behind him and throwing an arm out as if to protect her. All she could do was stare, completely perplexed.

The dark gray head emerged first, followed by the rigid back and monstrous tail, scales glistening in the sunlight. It slithered out and crossed the road so fast that it was almost a blur, but then it stopped at Eastman's side and turned to face them - mere feet away, glassy eyes dead set on Beth and Daryl as it hissed through its several rows of razor sharp teeth.

It was so large and distinguishable, it _had_ to be the same alligator they'd seen earlier.

Her breath caught in her chest and she made a squeaking sound, too terrified to move a muscle or even turn and run. Daryl urged her back another step, his face gone pale and his eyes as big as saucers. He looked to Eastman frantically and Beth was just waiting for the gator to inevitably take a chomp out of the man's meaty leg.

Yet Eastman acted like he barely noticed. When the alligator let out a low growl that seemed to rumble the mud beneath it, he glanced over very nonchalantly and smiled. Then he looked from Beth to Daryl and back again before chuckling.

"Don't be scared, she doesn't hurt friends," he said.

"Shut the fuck up, that's a goddamn _alligator_, man!" Daryl cried, voice high-pitched and cracking as he slashed an arm angrily through the air. "It ain't got _friends_ \- it's got _meals_! That's a fuckin' killing machine, man!"

_God's perfect killing machine,_ Beth remembered.

Eastman laughed and shook his head, gesturing down to the gator. "No, this is _Tabitha_."

The gator lifted its head to reveal the tan underside of its jaw and gaze at Eastman, and Beth could've swore it briefly shot him a look of… _affection_? Were gators even capable of showing affection? She had no idea, but somehow this one seemed very different. It certainly had a personality, if that was possible.

"You gotta be fuckin' kidding me," Daryl said, shaking his head in disbelief.

Beth nearly laughed, unable to tear her eyes away from the ferocious predator standing beside Eastman like it was some kind of pet. And hell - the guy was basically saying it _was_ some kind of pet.

"She protects us just as we've always protected her," Eastman explained, smiling as though he were discussing the weather. He looked over to the gator - _Tabitha_ \- and told her, "It's okay, he's never met anyone like us. But he's a good man. He doesn't want to hurt innocent people. He'll get used to us."

Tabitha hissed back, but it wasn't an angry hiss. In fact, it sounded like an agreement.

Then Eastman raised his eyebrows and gave Daryl a very pointed look. "Like I said, _no one_ will be harmed today. Now - let's get your dearly departed and make our way to the house, shall we?"

* * *

When it came time for Merle to leave the truck, he suddenly had a change of heart.

Eastman and Tabitha began leading the way forward but after Beth gestured a half-dozen times for Merle to join them and he didn't appear, she apologized and began heading back to the truck to see what the hell the hold-up was. Daryl moved to join her but she stopped him and he silently agreed, hesitating where he stood - keeping a good distance between him and Tabitha. Eastman stood and watched, waiting patiently much like he had when they'd first arrived.

Beth glared at Merle through the windshield as she stalked through the mud, but he was purposefully avoiding her gaze and looking out the passenger window, sitting in the cab of the truck like he had nowhere important to be. When she approached and yanked open the passenger side door, she huffed angrily.

"Come on," she said, already frustrated.

He crossed his arms over his chest, frowning. "Why don't she come out an' meet us? I don't like the looks a this. It's sketchy - you might be puttin' Daryl in danger."

She gave him an indignant look and snapped, "Are you _kidding_ me? _You're_ the one who was so insistent on him coming with us, on him _helping_ me. We drove all this way, this is _not_ the time to back out, Merle."

"Yeah but this ain't lookin' nothin' like I expected. It's weird as shit," he argued. "And what the fuck's the deal with that goddamn alligator? That dude keepin' it as a fuckin' _pet_? Or is that his dinner? 'Cause that thing could snap any minute an' eat you fer a _snack_, blondie!"

Beth rolled her eyes and sighed, exasperated. "Her name is Tabitha and she's harmless. Besides, if she's gonna eat anybody, it's gonna be the guy she's _closest_ to - and that's _not_ Daryl _or _me. Now c'mon. It's nothing like I expected either but how the hell were we supposed to _expect_ anything? The whole thing is weird, it's _been_ weird ever since you showed up and wouldn't leave!"

Merle scoffed, sucking on his teeth indignantly. "Nah. I don't like the looks a this - "

"Shut the fuck up and come with us - _now_. Or I'll go inside and have the Swamp Witch _make_ you join us."

"You don't know that she can even _do_ that! Yer fuckin' lyin'. 'M not that stupid, princess."

Beth narrowed her eyes and muttered, "But you don't know either. So _try me_. I'm sure she's got _some_ kinda way to make you go away forever."

She wasn't expecting it to, but that elicited exactly the reaction she'd been going for. Merle appeared a little startled, though he quickly tried to cover it up with a smug laugh.

He tightened his arms across his chest and glared down at her from the seat, jaw clenching uneasily. "That's all this is anyhow. You only came all the way out here ta get rid of me for good. You don't wanna _help_, you don't give a shit that somebody _killed_ me. Neither does Daryl… You jus' want me outta yer hair, you don't give two shits whether I end up in fuckin' Limbo forever. Both a y'all are just as goddamn _selfish_ as you accuse me of being - so what's that make _you_, huh? Ya sure as hell ain't no better than The Horrible Merle Dixon, I'll tell ya that much."

Beth shook her head, a bit flabbergasted and unsure of where to even start with his poorly timed outburst. "What - where is this even _coming_ from? The whole point has _always_ been to get rid of you - yer supposed to cross over, Merle. I've made it _very_ clear that I don't like you and that your presence is nothin' more than a nuisance. And as for Daryl: he's your _brother_, you knucklehead. Of _course_ he cares. He's just a stubborn asshole who hates to show emotion and thinks that being human is inherently weak. Just like _you_." She sighed and rolled her eyes. "You're so _dense_ sometimes!"

Merle slashed a hand through the air in frustration and scoffed at her. "You don't know _shit_ about me an' Daryl, sweetheart. Ain't nothin' gonna be good enough fer him, he's not gonna help you if it means helping _me_. He's just gonna take the easiest goddamn way out - an' what if this cunt gives ya that easy way out? Huh? You gonna take it? You gonna let Daryl off the hook an' condemn ol' Merle to an uncertain eternity jus' 'cause he said some shit you were too fuckin' soft ta see the humor in?!"

Her mouth opened to respond but he cut her off, gesturing to the cross around her neck, "Yer full a shit - _both_ of you. You don't wanna help no lost soul, you ain't no child of God or fuckin' footwasher like JC Himself. You jus' wanna live on yer little farm with yer pretty little flowers and yer shallow fuckin' magazines an' pretend there ain't other people out there who got it a whole hell of a lot worse'an you - people you _could_ help."

"You're _wrong_," Beth said firmly. "Completely and totally _wrong_. I _do_ want to help. Otherwise I wouldn't be here. And if I get an easy way out, I _won't_ take it. Not until we find an answer. Okay? If you're so sure that you were murdered, then we'll get to the bottom of it. One way or another. I sure as hell don't want some _murderer_ out there walking free, I'm not gonna take an easy way out if that's the case. And I can assure you right now, Daryl wouldn't be here if he didn't wanna help either. He's sure as shit not here for me - he's here for _you_. And no matter how _disloyal_ you might think he is, he wouldn't be comfortable knowing that his big brother is stuck in Limbo forever. You're _brothers_. That bond doesn't go away just 'cause one of you is _dead_."

Merle stared forward with narrowed eyes, chewing on the inside of his cheek thoughtfully. He was still scowling, a stubborn expression etched into his features while his gaze was set on nothing in particular.

"Maybe I ain't so good," he muttered hoarsely, refusing to look at her and keeping his eyes forward. "Maybe I made some mistakes, did some shit without thinkin'. That don't mean I'm any less deserving of… whatever mercy everybody gets after death. I love my brother. I woulda _died_ fer my brother…"

"He knows that, Merle," Beth said, letting go of the edge in her tone. "And I think he woulda done the same for you."

He didn't acknowledge her. He went on, "Nobody's perfect. Daryl's done some pretty shitty things too, ya know… But he was always a better man than me. I won't deny it. He deserves a better life, he deserves ta be some kinda happy - whatever kinda happy it is that I spent my whole damn life chasin' after."

His eyelids fell shut and his nostrils flared as he took in a deep breath. His jaw clenched and he seemed to be mulling things over in his head.

She froze and all the frustration suddenly melted away. For a brief moment, Beth felt like she might be pitying Merle. Or - more dangerously - _sympathizing_ with him. He was looking terribly… _human_ right now. And as scary as that was, it was also sad.

Then he added quietly, "You gotta make a _promise_, Beth. A real promise. Gotta keep yer word jus' like yer Daddy taught ya to."

She hesitated. As much as she didn't like it, he had here there: she wasn't one to go back on her word. Hershel had instilled that within her and her siblings from a very young age. _Following through on your promises is the core of being a kind and compassionate person,_ her dad had always preached. And she'd taken it to heart for 20 years.

"Okay, I'll make whatever promise you want," she agreed softly. Then she added, "As long as _you_ promise ta come in with us an' stop making this any harder than it has to be…"

Merle opened his eyes and finally turned his head to look down at her. His frown remained, though it slightly lessened. "Alrigh'. Deal…?"

She nodded. "Deal."

He worried his lower lip for a long moment, his shoulders still stiff and tense though they were slumped almost in defeat. He sighed and averted his gaze away from hers once more, staring out the windshield with a blank expression instead.

Then he said, "You gotta promise me that you ain't gonna back out - no matter _what_. Even if… or _when…_ you find out that I… mighta fucked up. Even if you think I'm the most vile piece a shit you ever had the displeasure of meetin'. You gotta _help_ me, girl."

Beth furrowed her brow and studied him cautiously. He turned and met her eyes and for the briefest second, she saw something that looked like desperation on his face.

"You gotta help Daryl," he said. "_Promise_ _me_, Beth. Promise you'll help my baby brother - that ya won't give up on us. Promise you won't give up on _him_."

She blinked dumbly, caught off-guard by the rawness in Merle's tone.

All she could say was, "Okay, Merle. I promise."

* * *

Beth couldn't stop staring at Tabitha on the walk up the road and the winding wooden path, taking note of the muddy pink ribbon tied affectionately around one giant, scaly leg. The gator stuck to Eastman's side and crawled along with them, leading the way to the house that sat on the edge of the water. She acted more like a dog than anything and Beth kept wondering if she was dreaming. Everything was too weird, too surreal.

But then again… that had been her life for the last few days. Ever since a dead guy had shown up and started demanding her help. She reckoned she may as well get used to everything that came along with it - like swamp witches and pet alligators and what-have-you.

They were surrounded by ancient trees draped in hanging Spanish moss, the mucky banks of the swamp riddled with sinkholes and muddy traps. Merle remained silent during the trek, trailing behind Beth and Daryl with his arms crossed and a displeased look plastered on his face. Beth hadn't bothered to attempt any introductions - Daryl was brooding quietly, constantly eyeing Eastman's back and keeping a keen eye on Tabitha, and Eastman had acknowledged Merle's presence with a satisfied nod and nothing more. They walked in silence, an uneasy tension hanging between them.

Beth tried not to worry too much about what Merle had told her and subsequently made her promise. She told herself that no matter what this Swamp Witch had to say, she wouldn't back down or give up. She needed to follow through for once, to do something right to make up for all her inaction over the last few years. Because if she didn't, the guilt would surely eat her alive. If Tabitha didn't eat her first.

As they approached the swamp house, the wooden path became more narrow. And before they could climb the slight incline up to the back porch, Tabitha turned and crawled right off the edge and into the murky water with a soft _splash_. Her tail was the last to disappear beneath the depths, and a few seconds later, the spiny top of her head broke the surface and drifted along lazily as she floated away. Eastman barely gave her more than a sideways glance as he led Beth, Daryl, and Merle up to the porch and towards the backdoor.

Before they could get any farther, the door opened and a man stepped out. They all stopped and Beth grew tense, breath catching in her chest as she waited for an inevitable "she's waiting inside for you" or something.

But instead, the man saw them and smiled. He was black and probably around the same age as Eastman with a close-cropped haircut, receding hairline, and a thick shadow of dark hair covering half his face. He was no taller than Daryl with defined muscles, broad shoulders, and a toned form, and dressed slightly nicer than Eastman. He was wearing black hiking boots that were caked in dry mud rather than rubber wading boots, and faded jeans with a moss green wifebeater beneath an unbuttoned beige shirt. His brown skin glistened with a sheen of perspiration and there was a red woven bracelet tied around his left wrist. His eyes were the color of rich soil after a rain, and full of intrigue as he looked Beth up and down, offering Daryl no more than half a glance. Then his smile grew wider and his gaze drifted over Beth's shoulder - at Merle.

"They finally made it," Eastman announced happily.

The black man looked at him and nodded. "They certainly did. As I told you they would."

Eastman shrugged and chuckled softly, tapping his walking stick against the wood. "I'll admit, I had my doubts. Definitely didn't expect 'em this early."

Beth broke in abruptly, unable to tear her eyes away from the new man standing before her. "I'm sorry, but - where's the Swamp Witch?"

The black man's smile immediately disappeared and he sighed with frustration. Just then, the door opened again and another person emerged. This time, it was someone Beth recognized: the kid that had given her the map. He looked exactly the same as the night before except he wasn't wearing the hoodie.

The older man looked to the kid, still frowning, and said, "Dammit, Duane! What'd I tell you about callin' me the _Swamp Witch_?"

The kid - Duane - smiled and let out a laugh before responding, "But Dad, it's such a cool name!"

Beth's mouth dropped open and she could see Daryl's doing the same from the corner of her eye.

"Wait, what - _you're_ the Swamp Witch?!" She asked, baffled. Eastman laughed.

The black man sighed again and met her gaze, shaking his head. "I prefer _Morgan_. But yes, I'm the one you're looking for."

He reached out a hand before she could fully process what was happening and said, "It's nice to finally meet you, Beth Greene. I've seen a lot about you, and I think you could use some help."

**to be continued...**

* * *

**A/N: **Hey, if you don't like the way that Daryl or Merle are acting in this fic, feel free to stop reading and please don't bother leaving a review :) This is strangers to lovers AND slow burn, so it's not gonna be fluffy and you shouldn't expect it to be. Thanks!


	15. Beth Greene and The Swamp Witch Who Wasn

**Beth Greene and The Swamp Witch Who Wasn't Really a Witch**

"You've - w-what?" Beth stammered, blinking rapidly and numbly reaching her hand out to shake Morgan's. "_Seen_ a lot about me…?"

He chuckled and gripped her hand firmly, giving it a hearty shake before releasing. "I've had many visions of you, I know your plight," he said confidently. He spoke with a light Southern accent, much less of a drawl than what was common so far south of Atlanta, and clearly enunciated all his words. "I want to give you guidance. I want to _help_. Are you willing to accept that help?"

Beth glanced over at Daryl for reassurance, completely dumbstruck and unsure of how to process all this new information. She was still struggling to understand how she could've misimagined this person so horribly, let alone how she could accept help from someone who already knew her name without her saying it. And he claimed to have had _visions_ about her? This was even more insane than she ever could've prepared for.

But Daryl appeared just as awestruck as she was, and Merle remained silent behind her, arms crossed over his chest while he sucked on his teeth thoughtfully. She could feel the waves of distrust and apprehension radiating off both of the brothers like electricity.

"Well… yeah, yeah of course," she agreed, staring into Morgan's eyes with a thousand and one questions and wringing her hands together nervously. "I just - okay, so you can _see_ him? You can actually see Merle?" She turned her body slightly and gestured to Merle, who grinned and lifted his chin proudly before giving Morgan a wink.

Morgan chuckled again, amused. Then he nodded and said, "I most certainly can. We all can."

He smiled so casually that it threw Beth off. She was still in disbelief. She quirked an eyebrow and asked him, "You _all_ can? Even him?" She pointed to Duane, who looked surprised but didn't reply. He quickly looked to his dad for a reaction.

Morgan met his son's eyes and they shared a nod of the head, then he told Beth, "Duane can see him, but only faintly, and he can't quite hear him yet. My son is still learning - it's a lengthy process. However, to Eastman and I, he's plain as day."

"Then what's he look like?" She challenged.

She hadn't meant to make it sound like she doubted this man - he was the only person who seemed like he could really help her so the last thing she wanted was to upset or insult him. But she needed proof. After being practically haunted by someone that literally no other living person could hear, she was filled with doubt. She wasn't about to just walk into some weird swamp guy's weird swamp house without knowing for sure that he could see and hear the dead guy that had been glued to her hip for the last three days.

Morgan smirked as though she'd told a joke and without a glance in Merle's direction, he responded, "Ugly."

Daryl let out a "_hah_!" from behind Beth and she found herself smiling as well, unable to stop herself. Merle, on the other hand, didn't find it so funny. He immediately threw up a middle finger and spat on the ground.

"Hey, _fuck_ you! The hell if I'm gonna stand here an' be insulted by some big-nosed goddamn spearchucker."

Beth shot him a scathing glare and frowned while Eastman tapped his stick on the porch in a displeased fashion. But Morgan was unfazed.

He continued smirking as he focused his gaze on Merle and explained, "I don't mean physically unattractive - I mean your _soul_ is ugly. You led a dark life, Merle Dixon. You were not kind. You learned nothing from your mistakes. For every wound that was inflicted upon you during your time on this mortal plane, you inflicted twice as many upon others; those who didn't deserve it and yes, also those who did. Nonetheless, you hurt a lot of people and left immeasurable anguish in your wake…" He paused and winked before adding, "But I'm sure you already knew that."

Beth's eyes had grown wide at this and she turned to stare at Merle, whose jaw dropped open as he blinked dumbly, rendered speechless. He let out a little sound that was somewhere between a scoff and a whine. He looked to Beth as if she would help him. She merely gave him a knowing smile that said, _Well, what'd you expect? _

"Well that sure sounds like him," Daryl growled, crossing his arms over his chest and standing a bit more relaxed. He appeared to be pleased by Morgan's evaluation of his dead brother and ready to hear more.

"And fuck you too, _Darylina_!" Merle spat, glaring at his living brother. "All I fuckin' did fer you an' this is how you keep my memory alive? Ungrateful sonuvabitch."

"What _memory_?" Beth snapped. "Maybe if you'd left something worthwhile behind, he wouldn't talk about you that way. Just admit that you were an awful person and shut up."

Daryl took a step back, clearly put-off by the way Beth angrily spoke to the seemingly thin air beside him. He shoved his hands in his pockets and glanced around at the other men, who hadn't batted an eye at the exchange, before settling his eyes on Beth. There was a thoughtful expression on his face where there would normally be an expression of doubt and concern.

He was slowly coming to terms with the reality of what was going on - and dare she say, _accepting_ it. Not like he had much of a choice at this point. Besides, he wouldn't have come all this way with her if he hadn't at least _somewhat_ believed her… right? Or did he need all the answers she needed before he'd finally be one-hundred-and-fifty percent convinced? If he needed to literally see his dead brother like she'd been seeing him, then she wasn't so sure he'd ever be fully convinced because there was no way that was ever going to happen.

Merle crossed his arms over his chest and grumbled under his breath angrily, glaring at Beth. She turned back to Morgan and sighed.

"He's the worst," she said. "Like, the absolute literal _worst_. So all I want is to get rid of him. I don't know what you've seen about me or what you know, but - "

Morgan put up a hand to stop her and interrupted, "It's okay, Beth. You don't need to explain ta me. A dead person has no business wandering about the mortal plane, botherin' those of us who are just tryin' to go about our day. There's something much bigger than his soul crossing over that needs to be resolved here. And you an' I will figure it out." He smiled warmly and reassuringly before looking to Daryl and adding, "And you, too."

Daryl glanced around at first, as though Morgan could've been talking to Merle, but when he realized the black man's eyes were set on him, he gave a puzzled look. "Me? Why - just 'cause he's my brother? You tellin' me I gotta clean up his messes even after he's _dead_?"

Morgan shook his head and explained, "Not quite. But nearly every vision I've seen involves you. _Heavily_. As much as you may not like it, you're an integral part of this, Daryl Dixon."

Daryl pursed his lips and stared back at Morgan unblinkingly, the color slowly draining from his face.

Beth interjected and asked Morgan, "Why _me_, though? What connection do I have that made me need to be a part of this? Or was it just bad luck?"

His smile faded. "I was wondering the same thing," he said. "I have a lot of questions for you." He glanced over at Merle pointedly and added, "For _both_ of you."

Merle scoffed but Beth nodded, swallowing hard and trying to ignore the knot that was forming in her stomach. "Okay. I'll tell you whatever you want - as long as you answer all of _my_ questions."

She glanced back at Daryl before firmly adding, "And Daryl's."

Morgan stepped aside and gestured to the door behind him. "Let's not waste any more time then. I've been preparing for you."

* * *

The inside of the small house that sat on the edge of the swamp was not exactly what Beth had been expecting, but it was a lot less surprising than finding out that the Swamp Witch was actually an older black man who seemed mostly normal and sane.

Sunlight poured in through the numerous windows, diluted by the aged, water-stained glass and giving the entire place a hazy, almost mystical appearance. The inside walls and floor looked to be made of the same dark, unpainted wood as the rest of the property. There was the faintest trace of smoke drifting through the air from a burning incense that sat atop the mantle at the far side of the one-roomed cabin. At the other side was a small kitchen area right next to two small sections that were blocked off by large hanging blankets - assumedly the sleeping areas for Morgan and Duane (though Beth wasn't sure where Eastman stayed and wasn't about to ask). And beside the cold, dark fireplace was a worn wooden door that presumably led to a tiny bathroom. But right in the middle was a spacious living area, where a small couch sat near the backdoor with an old, chipped coffee table in front of it.

And on the opposite side of the room was a circular table surrounded by six plain chairs. Something sat atop the table, directly in the center, but a big thick blanket was draped over it and keeping it hidden. There was a single large rug, dark green and decorated with strange symbols and markings, in the middle of the floor. The front door was completely covered by a huge, thick, multi-layered black curtain.

The walls reminded Beth of Lady Jadis's strange place of business, though this swamp house was far less tacky overall. Instead of cliche posters, tapestries, and hanging beads, there were several paintings decorating the walls, all of them completely unfamiliar to her. They appeared similar to the painting Merle had pointed out at the psychic's shop, though none of them resembled the pipe-smoking man that had been depicted. They seemed to all be scenes from strange tales she'd never been told, demons and ghouls and ghosts and angels, more foreign symbols and markings. There was even a painting of a family of alligators hanging in the corner, and Beth couldn't help noticing that one of the hand-painted gators looked an awful lot like Tabitha - albeit smaller.

They all stepped inside, first Beth and then Daryl (and Merle), followed quickly by Morgan and Duane. Eastman entered only long enough to eyeball Daryl, and once the living Dixon had stepped foot inside and begun looking around curiously with his hands still shoved in his pockets, Eastman gave Morgan a nod and said, "Holler if you need us." Then he left, gently shutting the backdoor behind him.

"Duane, did you get that tea ready?" Morgan turned to his son, who nodded and silently walked to the kitchen area to fetch a prepared platter of mason jars.

Before Morgan could say anything else, Daryl took a step forward and jerked his head in the general direction of the door that Eastman had just left through. "Alrigh' - what's the deal with that guy? It's one thing that y'all talk to ghosts or whatever, but you really gonna tell me y'all keep a fuckin' _alligator_ as a _pet_?"

Merle cackled from where he stood and surprisingly, Morgan chuckled with amusement as well. Duane approached with the platter of mason jars, all of which were filled with iced tea and topped with lemon slices, and he was laughing along with his dad. He set the platter down on the old coffee table and stepped back to stand beside Morgan.

"Tabitha's not a _pet_," Duane said matter-of-factly. "There ain't no pets out here."

"There _aren't any_ pets out here," Morgan corrected, giving his son a sharp side-eye.

Duane nodded and looked at his father apologetically. "That's what I meant."

Daryl grunted and muttered, "Well whatever you wanna call it, don'tcha think it's a little weird? Li'l _dangerous_? An' how the hell'd ya get a damn _ribbon_ on 'er without losin' a limb?"

Duane laughed and Morgan smiled, shaking his head.

"That's all Eastman. He and Tabitha have a bond that even I could never truly understand," he explained with a nonchalant shrug. "But she's been good to us. She knows friends and she knows family, and we are her family. Besides, we're all a little _weird_ in our own ways, wouldn't you say?"

Daryl shrugged awkwardly and chewed on the end of his thumb.

"Is Eastman another - uh, _witch_?" Beth asked, unable to contain her curiosity any longer.

Duane laughed again and Morgan rolled his eyes in response, though he was still smiling. "I dunno that you'd call us _witches_."

Duane looked to his dad and said, "But it's in our _roots_, Dad."

Morgan shrugged and agreed, "Yes, that's true, Son." He turned back to Beth and Daryl and went on, "My grandmother was a witch - and she would proudly tell anyone. She immigrated from Haiti to New Orleans and brought her culture with my family. She inherited what she called _Gifts_, which I inherited from her, and luckily Duane inherited them as well. But yeah, I suppose you could say that Eastman taught me everything I know. Well… he _guided_ me, more accurately. He inherited a number of his own Gifts. And we've taught each other a lotta things over the years, which we're now teaching Duane."

"What're you teachin' him? How ta _bond_ with alligators?" Daryl asked, his tone growing impatient.

Beth sighed and was about to tell him to get off the gator thing, but Morgan laughed softly and gestured toward the couch.

"Have a seat, have some sweet tea," he urged. "I'll tell you the story of Tabitha and you can try ta wrap your head around it. Then we can move on to the _elephant_ in the room." He jabbed a thumb in Merle's direction and Beth giggled.

Merle frowned and leaned his shoulder against the mantle of the fireplace. "Keep makin' fun a me, asshole. I'll turn this whole goddamn place upside down."

"Not if you want help, you won't," Morgan quipped back. His voice was deep and stern, his response so sudden and reflexive that it made Beth's breath hitch in her chest.

Her jaw dropped and she looked over to see that Merle's mouth had snapped shut. He pressed his lips into a thin line, speechless.

Was that _fear_ in his eyes?

* * *

The story of Tabitha was heartwarming, in Beth's opinion.

As it turned out, Tabitha was an orphan. Years ago and several miles away from the cabin on the edge of the swamp, Eastman had come across the slaughtered carcasses of two very large alligators and a decimated hoard of eggs. And to Eastman's dismay, all but one of the eggs were destroyed. "_Selfish humans who wanted gator-skin boots and other useless shit,_" Morgan explained with a scowl. Eastman had been living in the swamps for a few years at that point, and he'd become rather adept at caring for the wildlife that inhabited the area. Needless to say, he scooped up the surviving egg and took it back to his tiny little cabin that lay nestled within the trees. And when Tabitha eventually hatched, he was the first living being she laid eyes on. She imprinted on him and made a habit of following him around like a dog, sleeping with him, living with him. He cared for her, fed her, kept her safe, helped her become strong. She grew. And grew. And grew. He helped her to find other alligators and to integrate into normalcy, but she kept coming back to him. And kept growing. She started a family of her own, birthed and raised her very own set of hatchlings. But she never left Eastman's vicinity for longer than a day or two at a time. _Ever_. She ended up raising 7 offspring, all of which were fully grown nowadays and just as loyal to their human friends as she had always been.

They all resided in the swamps that surrounded Morgan's cabin, spreading out for miles and miles. As Morgan explained it, Tabitha became something like a 'guard dog.' If they were going to consider Eastman the 'doorman,' that is. (And Beth did, because it made things feel less… _weird_.) But in actuality, he admitted, she was _family_. Eastman had tied that pink ribbon around her leg years ago without any expectation that it would stay - or that she wouldn't rip it off the first chance she got. (No, he didn't lose a limb or so much as a fingernail. Yes, Tabitha likes to be pet and groomed and even cuddled every now and then.) Yet the ribbon remained, like a little symbol of their lifelong connection. And the bond between man and alligator had become unbreakable. It had become something surreal, something _supernatural_.

Then again, Morgan explained, _everything_ in their world was supernatural. For him and Duane and Eastman, this was their day-to-day life. They bonded and related with nature and animals alike. They lived side-by-side with ancient beings and unseen forces. They teetered on the razor-thin edges between planes of existence with ease. They spoke with the dead just the same as they spoke with the living. They honed abilities and cherished Gifts that 'normal people' could never begin to comprehend.

Ghosts and visions of the future and witchcraft and pet alligators… All that and more was the norm around these parts.

Yet, by the end of Tabitha's intriguing origin story, Morgan had made it all seem very normal, almost _natural_. Beth felt herself relaxing on the couch beside Daryl, slowly accepting and growing accustomed to the abnormal circumstances that had brought her here. Maybe it wasn't all so weird or unbelievable after all. Maybe, she contemplated, it was just another side of the world - of _life_ \- that she'd never really considered, let alone had the chance to explore.

But even at this point, she found herself worrying about what Daryl thought, afraid that his perpetual doubt would risk everything. She glanced over at him to gauge his reaction and was surprised to see him staring at Morgan intently, hanging on every word and nodding along, deeply invested in the story. It made her confidence skyrocket and the worry disappeared. If the biggest skeptic in the room looked like he was starting to believe this whole thing was for real, then maybe that was a good sign for what was to come.

_At least he'll have no reason to think I'm on drugs or having a psychotic break now, _Beth thought triumphantly.

Unless it was like one of those 'mass hysteria' things she'd read about in school… No, no she couldn't be allowing herself to think like that. Merle was _definitely_ real, he was _not_ a shared hallucination, and she needed to figure out how to get _rid_ of him.

She also needed to figure out why he'd been so worried earlier. Why he'd made her promise to continue helping him no matter what she found out. What the hell did he think she was going to learn that would make her walk away after coming so far? And how did it involve Daryl?

"So what's she eat? I mean…"

"Well, he's always encouraged her to be self-sufficient, and she's plenty equipped with natural hunter instincts - "

"Okay, I'm sorry, I don't mean ta be rude and interrupt but," Beth interjected, putting up a hand and looking back and forth between Morgan standing before her and Daryl sitting beside her. "Can we move on to the, um - the _subject at hand_?"

Merle groaned and Duane laughed softly and Beth blushed, pursing her lips with uncertainty.

"Oh, c'mon - I wanna hear more about Tabitha!" Merle objected from where he stood leaning against the mantle.

Daryl looked at Beth and raised his eyebrows, hands held out quizzically. "But, Beth - they have an _alligator_ as a _friend_. I got so many questions."

She gave him an indignant look and said, "Daryl, your _dead_ brother is _haunting_ me."

"You ain't even _seen_ haunted yet, sweetcheeks," Merle quipped.

She nearly rolled her eyes as Morgan chuckled and shook his head. Then he waved a hand in her direction and said, "No, you're right. There're much more important matters to discuss. There's a lot of questions we _all_ need answered."

He paused and grabbed one of the chairs from the table, pulling it over and sitting down on the other side of the coffee table to face Daryl and Beth. He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, brown eyes settling on her with intensity. Then he asked, "Where d'you wanna start?"

Beth straightened her back and focused her gaze on him, mirroring the serious expression on his face. "How about the dead guy who claims he was murdered? And why _I'm_ the only one who can see him - of _all_ people?"

She glanced pointedly at Daryl but he didn't seem to notice. He was staring at Morgan too, waiting tensely for an answer, all stern and serious. He seemed to have scooted closer towards her across the couch, but she wasn't really paying attention to that.

Not at all, actually. Not one single bit.

Morgan hesitated and opened his mouth to answer but Beth had another thought and stopped him.

"Sorry, but - maybe we should start with the visions," she said, trying to ignore the blush that was rising in her cheeks. She had so many questions and she hadn't really rehearsed any of them beforehand. They were all bubbling up and she wanted all the answers at once, though she knew she'd have to be patient. She wanted to start from the beginning. "You said you've seen a lot about me, and when Duane gave me the map, he said you'd seen me in a vision. And he said something about 'time being the vengeful enemy's weapon?' I - "

Morgan sighed and motioned for Beth to pause, which she did. He immediately looked over at Duane, who was smirking.

"Dammit, Duane! Did you get all theatrical again? I told you to deliver the map an' pass on the message like a _normal_ _person_. It's bad enough you called me the Swamp Witch. Now, see? You went an' scared the poor girl."

Duane laughed and shrugged. "How am I s'posed ta tell somebody that we live in a swamp and see visions about 'em without gettin' a little theatrical? C'mon Dad, don't be a buzzkill."

Morgan shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, shaking his head. Then he waved his hand in his son's direction and said, "Go on out an' help Eastman. I'm gonna handle this one on my own."

Duane rolled his eyes but didn't argue. He grabbed his mason jar of sweet tea and left out the backdoor, shutting it gently behind him. Once he was gone, Morgan turned his full attention back to Beth and Daryl.

"I apologize," he said, focusing on Beth as he spoke. "He reads too many damn comic books. I didn't wanna scare you like that or make you hesitant about comin' to me for help. It's true that we don't have all the time in the world, but I knew you wouldn't wait long to seek me out no matter the circumstances. There was no need for my son ta be so melodramatic."

"I think the kids call that '_being extra_' nowadays," Merle remarked with an amused smirk. Then he raised his eyebrows as though he were surprised with himself and said to Beth, "See, blondie? Told ya I was learnin' shit from them girly magazines in yer closet!"

Beth chose to ignore him and continued talking to Morgan, unable to find the humor in much of anything at the moment. She was getting impatient. "Let's start with the visions. And the fact that you said you were expecting a pair of _living_ visitors - how'd you know it was supposed to be Daryl?"

"Yeah, I'd like ta know that too," Daryl agreed.

"What all did you see?" Beth asked, a hint of urgency leaking into her tone despite her best efforts to remain patient. "You knew my name, you knew what I'd be driving, you knew I went an' talked to Lady Jadis. Did you see a bunch more than that, or…?"

Morgan lifted his eyebrows and seemed a bit taken aback at first, though Beth knew he was just trying to figure out what answer to begin with. Then he nodded. He gazed at her contemplatively, then at Daryl, then back to her.

He replied, "I've seen glimpses of both the past and the future. I had many visions of you, Beth. I peeked into your childhood, I witnessed some of the things that helped shape who you are. It was a bit hazy at first - I didn't even know your name for the first three days that you appeared during my meditation sessions. But then it all became _clear_. And I saw Merle finding you; I saw those woods, your wicker basket, the flowers you were going to pick. I saw you trying to run away from him - continuously. And of course, I saw you searching for help. I saw the big black Ford that your daddy lets you drive, I saw the cross necklace yer mama gave you that you never take off. And I saw you stumble upon a woman who cannot control her Gifts, let alone fully understand them. She gave you some very good advice, but would you have heeded it had Duane not come along with that map? I don't know and I don't _want_ to know. As soon as I saw you in front of that psychic's shop, I sent Duane to Atlanta to catch you. I knew that moment would be my only chance to reach out and offer help."

He paused and the intensity in his eyes became deeper, as did his voice when he added, "And thank God you accepted."

Beth's breath caught in her throat as his words sank in. She was staring back at him dumbly, trying to read his face and figure out exactly how much he'd seen. But before she could find her voice to ask another question, Daryl spoke up.

"And me?" He asked gruffly. "'D you see me, too? Or'd you jus' take some wild guess an' claim that the _living_ brother needed ta be here ta deal with all this shit?"

Morgan shook his head and turned his intense gaze on Daryl. "It was no guess, Daryl. Your involvement isn't without purpose. I saw you, too."

"_Our fates are intertwined_," Beth burst out. She blinked, blushing, and avoided looking over to meet Daryl's curious eyes even though she could feel them on her. She quickly explained, "That's what Duane said - he said our fates would be determined the same."

Merle groaned loudly. "Spoiler alert!"

**to be continued...**


	16. The Gift That Can't Be Returned

**The Gift That Can't Be Returned**

Beth and Morgan both seemed to be tuning Merle out at this point because neither of them flinched at his comment or bothered glancing in his direction.

Morgan sighed, shaking his head. But it wasn't because of Merle this time.

"That's just Duane bein' Duane again," he muttered. "I don't like ta throw around terms like 'fate' and 'destiny.' It's reckless and irresponsible. Besides, you already knew that you needed Daryl's help. Because Merle knows, and he told you. He forced you to talk to Daryl, didn't he?"

Beth nodded. "Yeah. He did." She looked over and found Daryl staring at her, an odd expression on his face. As though he were beginning to feel remorseful about being so doubtful - and downright _rude_ \- now that he knew for sure she'd been telling the truth the whole time.

She didn't think she wanted him feeling that way, though. It wasn't like she could really blame him; she knew how insane it had sounded. She knew how jarring all of the information she'd given him must've felt. She couldn't even say she wouldn't have had the same reaction if she were in his position. And now that they were sitting in this odd swamp house, talking to a guy who was completely comfortable with seeing ghosts, she almost felt like the tables had turned. Though she wasn't about to start doubting the Swamp Witch himself. Not when he had all the answers she so desperately needed - and wanted.

Morgan glanced back at Merle, earning a scathing glare from the dead Dixon, then settled his gaze on Beth and said, "I have a strong feeling that this dead man will end up forcing you ta do a lot of things you wouldn't have normally ever done." He paused and shrugged rather nonchalantly, adding, "But that's just part of having these Gifts. Like the old saying goes, it's both a blessing _and_ a curse."

Beth blinked and narrowed her eyes. "What - you mean, the _Gifts_ you have… is that why I can see Merle? I have Gifts, too?"

He smirked, leaning forward in his chair with his elbows on his knees. "Of course you have Gifts, Beth. They don't discriminate. It's like me and Eastman. I know that mine were inherited from several generations, I know that I passed it on to Duane. My grandmother told me stories of the Gifted in our family, of her grandparents who were shamans and _their_ grandparents who were priests and priestesses. In Eastman's case, he had a great-grandfather who was lobotomized for talking to the dead. And much farther back, a grandmother who was burned at the stake for being a witch. You must've had shaman ancestors - or more recently, perhaps an 'odd' relative or two? A grandparent that everyone claims was 'mentally ill?'"

She contemplated this new information for a moment and wracked her brain but no matter how far back into her memories she delved, there was nothing she could find. She'd never heard of anyone else in her family being like her. There wasn't even anyone who'd been insane or 'weird.' Not that her daddy talked much about his own grandparents… and his parents had died way before she was born… and her mama had been adopted so she'd never really known anything about that particular bloodline and it wasn't exactly traceable…

All the air left her lungs in a long and slow breath of realization. She looked down at the scuffed wood floor, still wracking her memory for any trace of… _anything_. But all she could come up with was:

"My dad told me it was old wives' tales," she said. She lifted her gaze and met Morgan's deep brown eyes to find him staring at her, listening intently. She suddenly felt awkward and shrugged. "I don't… I mean, that's it. I never had anything like this before. It just kinda came outta nowhere."

Morgan nodded, giving her a chance to go on. And when she didn't, he raised his eyebrows and said, "You and I both know that's not true. And that your father was wrong. He's a very wise man, but he was always wrong about _this_. These weren't old wives' tales. They weren't coincidences or products of your imagination. You've seen ghosts before; you've spoken with the dead, Beth Greene. You've witnessed them crossing over."

Beth was struck silent. She swallowed hard, unable to tear her gaze away from Morgan's.

"You've been peeking behind The Veil since you first opened your eyes."

Her response came out weak and shaky, "I have…?"

He nodded.

Her mama's doting voice echoed in her head, _You were always such a chatty baby. You had so many imaginary friends! My perceptive little girl._

Daryl interjected with a question of his own, quiet and uncertain, "What d'you mean, _The Veil_?"

Morgan turned his intense stare to Daryl and explained, "The Veil is like a curtain: it separates the mortal plane from The Other Side, the living from the dead. You and most everyone you know lives in the mortal plane without ever catching more than a glimpse behind that curtain. But those of us with Gifts can see beyond The Veil, and some of us are able to balance between both planes with ease."

_Some of us,_ Beth thought. _Not me. If I could balance at all, I'd stay completely in the normal world. Where I belong. I don't want to see what's behind The Veil. There's a curtain separating us for a reason._

"That's why y'all can see Merle an' I can't?" Daryl asked.

Morgan nodded. "Basically."

Beth couldn't help but mutter, "Consider yerself lucky."

Daryl grunted out a half-chuckle and then Morgan was reaching out with both hands across the coffee table, toward Beth.

"May I see your hand?" He asked.

She hesitated, caught off-guard, and shared a look of puzzlement with Daryl. Though she was probably less puzzled than he was. She was reminded of Lady Jadis and her bullshit palm reading. Forty bucks down the drain…

Nonetheless, Beth held out her right hand and allowed him to take it in both of his. He turned her palm up and leaned farther forward until he was on the edge of his seat and peering down curiously at the creases in her skin.

"I saw that woman - Jadis, she calls herself - reading your palm," he explained quietly, tracing one fingertip carefully through the lines. "I couldn't see what she was seeing, but she had the strangest look on her face. Like... "

His voice trailed off and then his lips were pressing into a thin line and he was nodding to himself, like something was suddenly making sense. He let go of Beth's hand and looked at her. "The other hand?"

Without question, she offered out her left hand. He took it in both of his and turned her palm up, just as he'd done with the other. But he didn't even glance at the lines. Instead, he slipped his thumbs beneath the thick bracelet she wore around her left wrist and pushed it up half an inch to reveal the horizontal scar that lay there.

He ghosted across the raised mark with a fingertip and muttered, "Here's not _here_."

As soon as she realized that her secret had been publicized, she jerked her hand back and shoved it between her thigh and the couch. She felt her face growing hot as Morgan leaned back and stared at her, an expression on his face that she couldn't quite decipher. He didn't look satisfied, but he didn't look disappointed either. It was more like he'd just been given an answer that he was expecting yet dreading all the same.

"W-what? What'd you jus' say?"

"Here's not _here_. Not for you, Beth," Morgan explained. He began to speak quieter, softer. "Lady Jadis may be misguided, but she's certainly not stupid. You've been toeing the lines between planes of existence for your entire life. This is more than just peeking behind The Veil. You were given a Gift - a spectacular Gift. An extremely _difficult_ Gift. And you've had to navigate it without any guidance this entire time…" He sighed and glanced away toward the floor before adding, "Yer probably not gonna like any part of what I'm about to tell you."

She worried her lower lip and stared back at him, determined. For some reason, his words were creating a tight and painful knot in her stomach. Though she was almost certain that he wasn't about to tell her anything she didn't already know. She willed him to meet her eyes again.

When he did, she said, "Tell me."

Morgan cleared his throat. Then he began, "All those odd incidents when you were young - the people you could see that others couldn't, the shadows and the voices from nowhere, the old couple walking out of the burning house…"

Her eyes widened and she nodded, silently urging him to go on. Her heart was in her throat.

He continued, "You were stepping behind The Veil. _Constantly_. You weren't just taking peeks, you were taking full-fledged strolls through planes where you did not belong. Lady Jadis saw all the splits in your life line; she was confused because normally, a split in that line would mean you've died. And all those splits would mean you've died _several_ times. But obviously, you haven't. You've remained very alive for twenty-four years. You were simply… jumpin' around. In and out, over and back. Without even _knowing_ it."

He seemed just as fascinated as she was by the things he was telling her. Though he also seemed a bit melancholy, as though there was some kind of darker realization to be found. She subconsciously held her breath, hanging on his every word and naively hoping for the best. But she never could've prepared herself for his next question.

"Did your parents ever tell you that you died before you were born?"

Beth froze. She stared at Morgan blankly, completely dumbstruck. _No - what?! _She wanted to say. But her voice had fled and all she could do was shake her head weakly.

He nodded very matter-of-factly and told her, "That was one of the first visions I had of you. The umbilical cord got wrapped around yer tiny little neck while your mother was in labor. You died before your head had so much as crowned through the birth canal. You didn't take your first breath for three long minutes once you came into this world… And because of that, you were born with one foot on The Other Side."

Her mouth was hanging open and she almost wanted to cry. But she couldn't.

Morgan saw the shock on her face and how speechless she was. He smiled reassuringly and said, "It's okay - you _survived_. You defied all odds and as a result, you were given a rare and blessed Gift that so many could only dream of possessing. Maybe you are the first in your family, or maybe it was inherited from someone you've never heard of. Either way, you are _special_, Beth. You've always been special… Whether you wanna be or not."

_How do I return this Gift?_ _Where's the receipt? _She wanted to ask. But her voice remained stuck in her throat and she could barely think clearly enough to keep breathing.

Morgan obviously understood, though. He gave her a chance to respond and when she didn't - and when Daryl kept sitting in silence and staring with the same amount of awe - he went on with his explanation.

"This Gift is a heavy weight to bear," he said solemnly. "And for some, it will fade away during puberty. If it's left neglected and mismanaged. Maybe that was the case fer you."

She quickly nodded to affirm his assumption, though that was all she could manage. The rest of her body felt numb. How did he know things about her that she'd never even known?

He blinked long and slow to acknowledge her before continuing in the same solemn tone, "But then you ventured farther…" He gestured toward her wrist. "When you tried to take your own life, you unknowingly created another split in your life line; you took an entire step out of the mortal plane, practically a _leap_. And your Gift came back with full force. You've been tethered to The Other Side for _years_. I reckon you just didn't know it."

There it was: the thing she'd been desperately hoping he wouldn't mention. He'd uncovered the scar on her wrist and now it felt like he was trying to reopen it. Her jaw was still slack but she had no response, no explanation.

A heavy silence hung over the cabin for what seemed like the longest moment ever.

Then it was abruptly broken as Daryl asked, "You tried ta kill yerself…?"

"_Christ_, blondie," Merle muttered from beside the mantle, an uncomfortable look on his face. He didn't even have a smartass remark to follow, he just shifted his weight from one foot to the other rather awkwardly.

Beth's mouth snapped shut and she felt all the blood rushing to her cheeks, her face becoming unbearably hot. She suddenly wanted to disappear.

She looked to Daryl with shame, frowning as she muttered, "When I was seventeen. I was in a bad place. It was stupid - I didn't _really_ wanna die."

She didn't know why she felt the need to explain herself to him, especially considering how he'd been treating her. But for some reason, she felt horribly embarrassed. This was one of her deepest, darkest secrets. It was one of those things that changed the way people looked at her and thought of her and acted towards her. She hadn't wanted _anyone_ to find out, let alone Daryl or Merle. Or the Swamp Witch.

Yet here she was, being told that her most selfish and shameful act had actually been the catalyst to reviving the Gift she'd never even known was a _gift_ to begin with.

Morgan seemed pleased with her explanation and said, "No. You didn't. And that's the most important part."

_Here's not here. Here's not here, _she repeated inside her head, trying to comprehend it. _How could I have been in two places at once without ever realizing it?_

It still didn't make sense, though. If anything, all this revelation did was make her really mad. It brought back old memories and buried feelings that she didn't like dealing with. She suddenly felt angry and frustrated, furious with how ashamed she felt but also annoyed with herself - mostly her past self, the weak Beth who'd opened her own wrist in a pathetic cry for attention. And aggravated with Morgan for bringing all of this up in a way that only seemed to make everything worse. A way that made her look just as crazy and hopeless as the dead guy that was haunting her.

"If I can see dead people, then how come I couldn't see my mom?" She asked, staring at Morgan as though he were withholding every answer she'd always been searching for. Even though she knew he wasn't. She couldn't stop her voice from rising, couldn't stop her pent-up anger from rearing its ugly head. "After all that? Did you see it in yer _visions_? All her suffering, how much it hurt ta watch her die? To _lose_ her? How hard I prayed fer the chance to see her one more time an' say goodbye? Did'ja see _any_ of it?"

She hadn't even realized that her hands were clenched into fists atop her lap, or that her back had gone stiff and her jaw had begun clenching tightly. She could feel Daryl's shocked gaze on her but she didn't even care. She kept staring at Morgan, waiting for an answer - _any_ answer.

His lively brown eyes dimmed and he frowned, meeting Beth's glare with a sympathetic expression. "Yes, Beth. I know how much it hurt you ta watch yer mama leave this world. Trust me… I understand. It's a heavy burden for anyone to carry, and often it doesn't feel fair."

He let out a deep breath, a pained look drifting across his features. Then he paused and licked his lips before finishing softly, "Your mother crossed over without incident, though. She's in a better place now. Be grateful that you didn't need to help her."

Beth huffed out a humorless laugh. "Oh, I should be grateful for _that_?" She gestured toward Merle and asked angrily, "So why _him_? Of all people, why did I get stuck helpin' the racist redneck asshole?! How the hell am I supposed ta help somebody when I never even _knew_ 'em while they were alive?"

"_Hey_!" Merle objected.

But Daryl was nodding in agreement, quick to add, "'S a good question - she's makin' some good points here, man."

Morgan put up his hands as if to defend himself, shaking his head. "When I say you should be grateful, I don't mean it condescendingly… I had to watch my wife die. I had to help her find her way to The Other Side. That's how we learned that Duane had inherited my Gift. And that entire experience… is something I would never wish on my worst enemy, let alone a child. You were still a child when your mother died, you were still a child when you _thought_ you wanted ta die. Yer no longer a child, Beth Greene. You're an adult and that means yer gonna be put through some tough situations."

She suddenly felt very stupid and her anger was rapidly receding into shame. How could she have been so crass, so presumptuous? She didn't feel like herself lately, but that was no excuse to be ignorant.

"'S time ta nut up er shut up, princess," Merle commented. Then he paused and mumbled, "Wait - 's that from a movie? Shit, I think I'm losin' my edge over here. Can we move this along already?"

Beth was too frustrated to acknowledge him and Morgan seemed to have no problem ignoring his off-handed remarks.

"I know you're frustrated," Morgan continued reassuringly, focusing his attention on her. "I know the whole situation is nonsensical - but I'm tryin' ta _help_. Okay? I'm not gonna have every single answer yer lookin' for, but I do have most of the answers that you _need_. You're not gonna like 'em all. I warned you."

She forced her shoulders to relax, exchanging a look with Daryl. He seemed to be telling her the same thing with his eyes and she immediately felt even more embarrassed than before.

Why was she lashing out at the one person who could help her? Why was she so upset about learning the truth when this is exactly what she'd wanted to know? Being around two very stubborn Dixon brothers had really taken its toll on her mental state today.

"I'm sorry," she apologized meekly, shrinking into herself and trying to backtrack the outburst of anger. "I didn't mean… it just doesn't make much _sense_. And my wrist - that was a long time ago. I was different back then, I was _weak_. If I'd had any idea that it would come back to _literally_ haunt me like this - "

"You weren't _weak_," Morgan cut her off firmly, staring intently into her eyes. "I know. You don't need to apologize. You just need to _listen_. It's a lot to wrap your head around but you have to try. And then you have to do what you can with all the information you have. These Gifts are given to us for _some_ kind of reason, and I'm almost positive that it's not random."

Beth _hmph_ed softly and tried to sound less aggravated. "Lady Jadis said somethin' about service to others being the rent you pay for yer place on Earth. Did you hear that part in yer vision?"

His eyebrows furrowed and he appeared displeased, though he nodded. "I did catch that bit." He paused, contemplating his next words. Then he said decisively, "And I think it's bullshit. She spoke as though you weren't meant to be here. Like you're fillin' some space that wasn't intended for you and paying the price with your life, with some 'destiny' that you have no control over. That's _bullshit_. She may have had some decent advice, but she doesn't see the big picture. She doesn't see _you_, Beth. You were _very_ much meant to be here - exactly as you are, exactly _where_ you are, and exactly as you'll ever be."

Beth was stunned into silence. How the hell was she supposed to respond to _that_? She could feel Daryl's eyes on her once again and it was getting harder to ignore him, harder to pretend that she didn't notice him staring at her in her periphery.

He appeared even more shocked by all these revelations - which didn't make sense because it didn't even have anything to do with him. Why did he care about her sad little tale of seeing ghosts and attempting suicide? None of this affected the Merle situation in any way. Daryl may as well have stepped out for this conversation. And she was kind of wishing he had.

_So much for not thinking I'm crazy,_ she thought. She was partially expecting him to tell her that there was no way in hell he'd ever trust someone who had taken a knife to their own wrist - and she would understand. Especially since he'd so recently lost Merle in an all too similar fashion.

At the same time, she wasn't sure why she cared so much about what he thought.

"But yer saying I basically have no choice - that I _have_ to help Merle," she said. "Why? Just because I have some _Gift _that I never even wanted?"

Morgan smirked at this and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. He blinked and told her, "I never said you have no choice. You _always_ have a choice."

Suddenly, the heavy weight on Beth's back felt twenty times lighter. She stared back at him, confused.

Then he pointed to Daryl.

"Him, on the other hand?" Morgan shook his head and said matter-of-factly, "Not so much."

**to be continued...**

* * *

**A/N: **Pleeeeease go check this fic out on AO3 because there's lots of pretty pictures to go with it now :)


	17. Visions of a White Trash Legacy

**Visions of a White Trash Legacy**

"What? But I ain't got no _Gifts_," Daryl spat.

Morgan continued smirking and met the living Dixon's quizzical gaze. "And that's part a the problem. You have a very vulnerable soul. You're more at risk here than she is."

Beth saw Merle shifting his weight uncomfortably, stepping away from the mantle and eyeballing Morgan's back with pursed lips. He looked nervous. He looked… a little _scared_. He felt Beth's eyes on him and shot her a frown, furrowing his brow. But before she could decipher the expression on his face, Daryl was bursting out with more questions.

"The hell's that mean?" Daryl growled. "You _threatening_ me?"

Morgan chuckled and shook his head. "Most definitely not. I have no qualms with you, Daryl. I simply have a… let's call it a _gut_ feeling about this whole situation. And my gut feelings have a tendency of comin' to fruition."

"My brother wouldn't hurt me," Daryl said. "So what else're you tryin' ta tell me I should be worried about?"

Merle was practically squirming where he stood but Beth was too preoccupied with trying to figure out what Morgan could be implying to take notice.

Morgan put out his hands quizzically and said, "I don't know for sure yet. That's what we're gonna find out."

"An' how d'you plan on doin' that? You gonna do some more _palm readings_?" Daryl taunted.

"Daryl, stop bein' _rude_," Beth interjected, reaching out and placing a hand tentatively on his arm. He turned his head and looked at her, furrowing his brow. "He's tryin' to _help_ us. Just give 'im a chance."

_He's already told me things about myself that I didn't even know, we __**have**__ to hear what else he has to say. _She didn't want to say it aloud, so she willed Daryl to read it in her eyes as she stared intently at him, pressing her lips tightly together and giving his arm a light squeeze.

Thankfully, he seemed to interpret her expression. Although he was looking at her _differently_. There was something else in his azure eyes that hadn't been there a few minutes ago. And she wasn't sure that she liked it.

"I _am_ trying to help you," Morgan agreed. "And it's not gonna be easy. Definitely won't be fun. But I promise I have no ill will towards you - towards _either_ of you."

"Why, though?" Daryl asked, his tone softening just slightly as he turned back to Morgan. "Y'don't even _know_ us. Why would you wanna help at all?"

Beth frowned, feeling a rush of sadness as she witnessed just how distrusting Daryl actually was. It was like he didn't believe in the existence of _anything_ \- ghosts _or_ good people. She'd forgotten that her hand was still on his arm and she discreetly pulled it away.

Morgan shrugged. "Because I _want_ to. Helping people makes me feel like I'm puttin' something back into the world. It gives me a sort of _purpose_ for these Gifts. They feel more like a curse sometimes, and I can't always help the people I see. But when I can, I try my damnedest."

Daryl narrowed his eyes with suspicion. Then he gave a clipped nod and asked, "So what all'd ya see about me in those weird little visions a yers? Why're you so sure that I'm some kinda big player in this shitshow?" His voice was still heavy with doubt.

Morgan chuckled in a very Swamp Witch-like manner and replied, "Because even though we've just met, I already _know_ you."

"If you want him ta listen, you've _gotta_ stop soundin' so ominous," Merle quipped from behind him.

Morgan glanced back at Merle over his shoulder and said, "I'm not _being_ ominous. It's all a matter of perspective."

"Yer bein' pretty ominous," Daryl said, agreeing with the voice he couldn't hear.

"He's not wrong," Beth chirped up meekly.

Morgan rolled his eyes in defeat before standing from the chair. He carried it back over to the covered table, then stepped aside and gestured for them to join him. "Have a seat over here. I think this'll be our best bet if we want some _real_ answers."

He glanced to Merle scornfully, though it was brief and Beth wasn't sure she'd interpreted it correctly.

She and Daryl exchanged a look of concern quickly followed by a look of 'might as well,' then they both stood up and moved across the room to sit side-by-side in two of the chairs on one side of the circular table. Morgan took the seat across from them, scooting his chair in until he was comfortable. As soon as they were all settled, he grabbed a handful of the blanket that was draped across the table and swiftly yanked it away. He tossed it to the floor.

And sitting atop the center of the tabletop was an actual, real-life crystal ball. The cloudy glass reflected the weak sunlight that poured into the cabin. The crystalline surface almost glistened, like the murky surface of a deep river.

Daryl burst out with a laugh of disbelief. Beth glanced over at him and saw his cheeks flushing pink, but Morgan chose to ignore the jerk reaction. She kept her lips pressed together, withholding any stupid questions that might want to escape.

A crystal ball might seem ridiculous, but she was determined to give Morgan the chance he was asking for. She'd hear him out, at least. And so would Daryl. She could already tell that the living Dixon was in too deep to walk away without having a few specific questions answered. No matter how the answers happened to come about.

Merle should've been laughing when he walked over to linger beside the table, but he was silent. He stood a few feet back, eyes narrowed and mouth tightly shut for once. He looked a bit tense and guarded, his shoulders hunched and his arms crossed over his chest like he was hiding something. As though he were waiting for a shoe to drop.

_Where's the other shoe? _Beth wondered.

Her stomach clenched with dread and she looked to Morgan, who was resting his elbows on the edge of the table and clasping his hands together before him. He appeared to be waiting for some kind of comment.

"_Nothing_?" He finally asked, looking from Daryl to Beth and back again. "No smartass comments about the crystal ball?"

Daryl shrugged and muttered, "Figured I'd give ya a chance." He glanced over at Beth and added, "Wasn't tryn'a be _rude_ or nothin'."

Morgan smiled and said, "Well, thank you for that."

Beth suppressed a smirk.

"Now let's get down to business," he went on, his tone becoming serious. "Daryl, I've seen you nearly as much as I've seen Beth. Though I'll admit, not nearly as much as I would've liked. I tried ta see more, in order to figure out how exactly I could help you. But I simply couldn't. I'm not sure why, but my guess is that she and I share more of a connection because of our Gifts. All I know is that you are heavily involved and you play an integral part in the grand scheme of whatever this may be."

Daryl paused, absorbing what he'd just been told before slowly responding, "You - saw me that much? Like… even before Merle died?"

Morgan nodded. "Of course."

"Like what?" Beth asked. She felt Daryl looking at her with surprise but she kept her gaze on the man across the table.

"Well, this involves Merle, so it's a given that Daryl would be intertwined with it," Morgan explained, glancing to Beth then settling his intense stare on Daryl. "Not like 'intertwined fates' or whatever - but your lives are connected. Beth is Gifted to see - and _help_ \- Merle, and you share blood with him. It was inevitable that your paths would cross. You're _brothers_; a bond that can't be broken. Especially under _your_ circumstances."

"_My_ circumstances?" Daryl repeated.

"You _and_ Merle's circumstances," Morgan reiterated. "I saw how you grew up, Daryl… I saw the mother who unconditionally loved you and the father who selfishly wanted you dead. And I saw Merle's place in your life, how his absence affected you, how he inevitably contributed to shaping who you became."

Beth held her breath and watched Daryl from the corner of her eye, too nervous to look away from Morgan. But the living Dixon didn't even flinch. He nodded weakly, urging the other man to go on. And he did.

"I know what kinda world you had to survive in. More than anything else, I saw how much Merle meant to you. I saw how much _you_ meant to _him_." Morgan raised his eyebrows and leaned forward just the slightest bit. "Your old man tried ta beat every last ounce of hope outta you. But Merle wouldn't let him. If you'd known before all this that _he_ was the one to kill your father, you wouldn't have loved him any less… Would you have?"

Daryl shook his head slowly, eyes wide and lips parted.

Morgan nodded, pleased with the answer he'd been anticipating. He added, "Merle was a despicable human being, but he was your brother. And he knows just as well as you do that you were always the better man. That's why he _resented_ you. That's why he pushed you away."

"No, he pushed me away 'cause I wouldn't follow his stupid ass around no more," Daryl said, his voice cracking and becoming defensive. "Never resented me 'cept when I wanted ta think fer myself."

"Oh, _fuck_ you," Merle objected loudly. "You was always a pussy, fuckin' mama's boy. I was tryin' ta toughen you up!"

"He was a know-it-all fuckin' asshole. Textbook narcissist."

"You couldn't even _spell_ narcissist, ya stupid prick."

Morgan shook his head and spoke louder to drown Merle out, "No, that's not what I mean. It's true that you both developed vastly different outlooks on the world, but that doesn't mean your bond is weakened. I - "

"I don't give a fuck about bonds an' _brotherhood_," Daryl interrupted, the frustration rising in his voice once more. He slashed a hand through the air and asked, "The fuck'd you see 'bout me? _Huh_? What the hell's this bullshit got ta do with me when I didn't have shit ta do with Merle 'fore he hung himself?"

"I didn't _hang_ myself!" Merle yelled out.

Morgan _tsk_ed softly, glancing away and down at the crystal ball blankly. "I'm still not sure. But I saw… _money_. An insurance claim or somethin' like that. And a lot of cash. It kept popping up when I witnessed your mother dying and the cabin that your father bought. I saw it again, very briefly, when I glimpsed Merle hanging from his bedroom ceiling. I could sense a broken promise, and the stench of revenge was everywhere. I don't have an explanation yet, though."

"Not even an educated _guess_?" Beth asked. She hadn't meant to burst out, but she couldn't help herself. All of this new information was only giving her more questions. And the biggest one was how the hell all of this fit into _her_ life.

Morgan returned her expectant gaze with a disappointed look. He shrugged weakly and motioned toward Merle standing behind him as he said, "Unless this one wants ta tell us the whole story."

Beth's eyes flicked over to Merle and narrowed. "You've been leavin' things out. _Why_? Why won't you just tell us? If you _really_ wanted help, you'd be tellin' us everything you know. But yer makin' us run around in a rat race - "

"Ain't no rat race, blondie. I done told ya everything I know," Merle cut her off. Then he paused and hesitantly added, "_Most_ everything…"

Her mouth fell open and she leaned back in her seat, appalled. Daryl was looking back and forth between her and Morgan, trying to figure out what was going on. Morgan sighed.

"I _knew_ it," Beth muttered. "I knew there was _something_ you were leavin' out."

"'M not leavin' nothin' out that has ta do with the fact that I was fucking _murdered_!" Merle threw his hands out and stepped forward. "How 'bout y'all geniuses start with that little _detail_?!"

She rolled her eyes and waved him off dismissively. "Right, like we're s'posed ta believe you were murdered now that we know you haven't been tellin' us anything that - "

"Actually," Morgan cut in, and the tone of his voice made Beth's lips snap shut. He held up a finger, motioning for her to pause the argument with Merle, and said, "I don't think he's wrong about that."

Beth and Daryl simultaneously burst out in disbelief:

"_What_?"

"You gotta be shittin' me."

Merle laughed triumphantly while Morgan nodded and explained, "It's not entirely out of the realm of possibility. I mean - it would make sense. If he'd actually taken his own life, I don't think he'd still be stuck here. And I don't think he'd be able to ask us for help. There's a lot more at play here and… he might not even know it."

Merle's laughter grew louder and he was grinning, clapping his hands happily. "'Bout time somebody fuckin' agreed with me! See, blondie? I _told_ you!"

"He's sayin' yer just as clueless as we are, moron," Beth snapped, glaring at the dead Dixon.

His laughter ceased and he frowned before quickly shrugging it off. "Whatever. 'M still right."

"There's nothing ta be right _about_, I - "

"Don't waste your energy arguing with him," Morgan interjected. "He's clueless _for now_. Let's change that."

"How?" Daryl asked before Beth had the chance.

Morgan gestured to the big crystal ball sitting before them. "With this."

Daryl scoffed. Merle cackled, leaning against the wall behind Morgan.

Beth glared at Merle first, then turned to Daryl and snapped, "This isn't _funny_."

"I'm not laughing," he said defensively. "Never _said_ it was funny."

She sighed and shook her head, turning back to Morgan and saying, "Merle got really spooked before we came in here. He made me promise ta help him no matter what we found out today."

"I wasn't _spooked_," Merle corrected. "I was jus' makin' sure you wasn't about ta go back on yer word, princess."

Morgan raised his eyebrows, intrigued, and said, "He claims to not remember any of the events pertaining to his death - correct?"

She nodded in affirmation.

Then he glanced back at Merle and asked, "And _after_ your death? You remember that part very clearly, don't you?"

Merle's face fell, eyes flicking between Morgan, Beth, and Daryl. He put on a tight-lipped smile and replied, "Sure I do. Ain't no concern fer the likes of you, though - the _living_. Y'all got no business knowin' what goes on in the afterlife."

"Bullshit," Beth spat. "This is all our business now. You _made_ it our business when you asked fer help."

"What's he sayin'?" Daryl asked, confused.

"He doesn't remember his death, but he remembers whatever happened to bring him to this point," Morgan explained. "And he doesn't wanna tell us."

"Well, what did _you_ see?" Daryl asked.

Morgan straightened his back and paused while Merle commented, "Yeah - tha's a good fuckin' question. What _did_ you see, Mr. Swamp Witch?"

"Like I said, I didn't see nearly as much as I would've liked to," Morgan answered, focusing his gaze on Daryl. "When it comes to Merle's possible murder… I saw the noose and I heard his last breaths. And I caught - a… no more than a glimpse…"

"Of _what_?" Daryl urged impatiently.

"A man. A white man," Morgan's voice lowered as he recounted what he remembered, and his eyes flicked down to stare blankly at the crystal ball while he spoke. "Someone tall. I saw the back of his head - he had straight brown hair. He was surrounded by a terrible aura, and he reeked of malice and greed and… _death_. The stench of revenge that seemed to be so palpable everywhere in Merle's house was comin' off this man in _waves_. He walked with a slight limp in his left leg. But he faded away before I could see his face. I was not permitted anymore visions before I could so much as hear his voice or see where he'd come from or how long he'd been there."

When he finished, he turned back to Merle and asked, "Does this man sound familiar to you?"

Merle shook his head, brow creased with worry and confusion. "Other'an the stink? All my friends fuckin' stink. But that don't sound like anybody I ever met."

"Tell the _truth_," Beth said sharply.

Merle turned on her and said, "I _am_! I wouldn't fuckin' lie about knowin' who my _murderer_ is, ya dumb bitch!"

Morgan raised his hands as if to come between them and said, "It's okay, we'll figure out who it was. I don't think he's lying about this. If he had any inkling of who could've killed him, I'm more than sure he would've voiced his _theories_ by now."

"Yeah, I _would_ have," Merle agreed, shooting Beth a taunting glare.

She rolled her eyes and focused on Morgan once more while Daryl sat beside her, quietly taking in everything that was being discussed. He nodded here and there to show he was following along, though he was chewing on his lower lip nervously the whole time.

"There was another man who appeared that I couldn't identify," Morgan continued, giving Beth and Daryl an expectant look. "He wasn't at Merle's house, but I saw him in some of the visions that involved the two of you. He seemed to be helping somehow, though I couldn't see exactly what he was doing. He has brown hair too, but he's not as tall as the man with the limp. Based on his clothes and his hat, I'm guessin' he's some sorta law enforcement. Maybe a Sheriff…?"

It seemed to click for Beth and Daryl at the same time because they immediately turned to one another with equally surprised expressions and said, "_Rick_?"

Morgan raised his eyebrows and repeated, "Rick? You both already know this man?"

Beth quickly explained, "Yeah. Rick Grimes. He's a - a _mutual_ friend. He's the Sheriff in our town, but my family's known him fer years. I babysit his daughter sometimes."

"And how d'you know this Rick guy?" Morgan asked Daryl.

The living Dixon shrugged and muttered, "Met 'im years ago when he firs' became Sheriff. Merle was always gettin' inta trouble an' I was always bailin' him out. Rick was always real cool about it. 'Least he was ta me. We ended up becomin' buddies but Merle hated him."

"Still fuckin' do," Merle chimed in. "That guy thinks he's hot shit an' he ain't nothin' more'an a cold pile a squirrel turds."

"And _you've_ always had a problem with authority, so it doesn't surprise me one bit that you'd say that," Morgan quipped, barely offering Merle a brief glance over his shoulder as he scolded him. "You might wanna hold your tongue though, because I think this man will be instrumental in solving the mystery surrounding your death."

That shut him up immediately.

"But Rick's the one that said Merle killed himself," Daryl said, no longer batting an eye whenever Morgan spoke to the seemingly thin air behind him. "He was one a the first responders to the scene when I called it in. He saw everythin' I saw an' came to the same damn conclusion."

Morgan's brow furrowed and he blinked, taking in this new information and contemplating it. Then he muttered quietly, "That's right - _you_ were the one to find Merle. The vision was brief but painful. I forgot about that." He licked his lips and asked Daryl firmly, "And nothing looked out of place to you? When you found your brother hanging from his bedroom ceiling?"

Beth looked over to see that Daryl's face had drained of color. He glanced away, down at the tabletop, and mumbled, "I… don't really remember." A pained expression flickered across his features, almost like he was ashamed.

Morgan hummed understandingly and nodded. "Shock will do that to you. I know it was a traumatizing moment, but anything you can remember - anything that may have seemed _off_ \- could help us figure out what Merle can't remember."

Daryl sighed and shook his head, still not looking up, mumbling to the table rather than Morgan. "I dunno. It all looked pretty much the same as it always did. I can't - all I can ever see when I think about it is how blue his face was. An' the weird angle his neck was in. His eyes were damn near bulgin' out his skull… Makes me fuckin' sick jus' thinking about it." He shut his eyes tightly and shook his head again, as though he were trying the shake the memory out of his head entirely. "'M sorry, but I wasn't lookin' at nothin' else. I _couldn't_."

Without hesitation, Beth reached out and placed a hand atop one of the clenched fists resting in Daryl's lap. She felt him relax just slightly at her touch, and she wrapped her palm around his knuckles and squeezed softly. She couldn't help but sympathize with him in this moment, to reach out and connect. She could remember how shocking and sickening it had felt to see her mom's lifeless body, so unfamiliar and grotesque compared to the beautiful and lively woman Beth had loved.

"I understand," Morgan said softly. "It's difficult. I know the police must've done an investigation, but they miss things all the time. And if Merle was a well-known nuisance, it's likely that they willingly overlooked the details. Small towns can be their own kind of Hell."

Daryl nodded and finally lifted his eyes to meet Morgan's. "Yeah, he was a nuisance alrigh'. But on top a that, he lived like a slob. Findin' anything in his house was pretty much impossible. Took me three full days ta clean the goddamn place out. Rick said it was an open-and-shut case - he told me there was no reason ta order a bigger investigation 'cause the scene spoke fer itself. So did the autopsy. 'Specially after they found all the drugs in his system." He paused, a thoughtful look on his face. Then he narrowed his eyes and added, "I don't think Rick woulda lied. He might not've liked Merle, but he wouldn't let a killer walk free. _Ever_."

"He wouldn't," Beth agreed. "Rick's a good man, he _cares_ about people."

"I wasn't implying that he lied," Morgan assured them. Daryl relaxed. "His aura appeared bright, I've already seen that he's a good man. I can't imagine he would've wanted to make the situation any harder for you, Daryl. And I'm sure he trusted your opinion, and when you didn't see anything amiss about your brother's death, he didn't see any logical reason to drag it out. _But…_"

Beth could see Daryl perking up from the corner of her eye and she squeezed his hand again. This time, he unclenched his fist and loosely wrapped his fingers around hers, though she couldn't tell if it was subconscious or intentional.

"That doesn't mean there isn't something _more_ ta be found," Morgan finished. "You said Merle lived like a slob - so how would we know if someone had shown up and ransacked the place, if they'd killed him? If they'd made it _look_ like a suicide?"

"Shit man, I'm likin' you more an' more," Merle said happily. "I mean, as much as I can like some muddy swamp nig-"

"_Don't_ say it," Morgan cut him off abruptly, whipping his head around to shoot Merle a fiery glare. "Don't you _dare_ say it. Not in this house, not to me, and not to my son. I've let yer derogatory remarks slip by, but this is where I draw the line. You won't speak like that around here, Merle Dixon. Not if you want me to _help_ yer sorry ass. You hear me?"

Beth froze and watched with wide eyes - and shock - as Merle snapped his mouth shut and frowned. But he _did_ stay quiet. And as much as he clearly hated it, he begrudgingly nodded.

"I'ono what he's sayin', but I can guess. An' I'm sorry about him," Daryl muttered across the table. "He was always a small-minded asshole."

Morgan chuckled and shrugged, his anger disappearing just like that as he turned back to face Beth and Daryl. "Don't apologize for your brother. I've dealt with much worse and I'm well equipped to handle it. I'll say this for him: he knows he doesn't have many options and he's being a lot more cooperative than I expected. And I think he has at least a _little_ compassion and remorse hiding somewhere deep inside that black soul of his. We can dig it out if we keep him on the right track."

"Stop talkin' about me like I'm not here," Merle grumbled angrily.

Beth resisted the urge to smile at this exchange, indescribably happy that she'd finally found someone who could put Merle in his place. She almost wanted to ask Morgan to come stay with her until she could get rid of the dead and obnoxious Dixon for good.

"We can try," Daryl said, shrugging. "But - ya know, he was cremated. So I'ono how we're s'posed ta go back an' look fer any sorta clues or whatever. If you really think he didn't kill himself. I already threw out mosta the shit that was in 'is house, an' then I sold the house three days ago."

"That does make it a little more difficult," Morgan mumbled, stroking the whiskers on his chin thoughtfully. "The house - he lived in your dad's old cabin, right? He moved in after Will died?"

"After he _killed_ our dad? Yeah," Daryl corrected. Beth squeezed his fingers in hers and he squeezed back. "It was a shithole, I never wanted nothin' ta do with it. I cleaned it out fast as I could an' sold it to the first person that offered me cash."

"Interesting," Morgan nodded. He turned to Merle and asked, "Was there someone that might've been lookin' for you? Or looking for something you were _hiding_?"

Merle scoffed and said, "Wasn't _hidin'_ nothin'... Not anything that anybody who was still _alive_ could've known about."

"What does _that_ mean?" Beth asked, narrowing her eyes at the dead man. "Why don't you stop bein' so withholding and just tell us everything you know so we can figure this out?"

"'Cause it don't concern you, _sweetheart_," he shot back coldly. "And I ain't tellin' you nothin' that's gonna make yer stupid ass go haulin' Daryl into somethin' he can't get _out_ of!"

Morgan's eyes had gone wide and he was looking back and forth between Beth and Merle. As Beth tried to comprehend the stupidity in Merle's statement without having another furious outburst, Morgan turned to Daryl.

"Do you have any idea if there's somethin' Merle might be hiding? Something that someone else might've wanted badly enough to kill him for?" He asked.

Daryl blinked, taken aback. He shook his head weakly and muttered, "Other'an whatever drugs he was sellin' or what he mighta gotten into after we stopped hangin' out? Nah, man. No idea."

Morgan sighed and his shoulders slumped in defeat. Merle was grumbling angrily under his breath and Daryl's hand had gone stiff in Beth's once more.

"This is gonna be… challenging," Morgan mumbled, already sounding exhausted. "But we have to start somewhere. I'll drag every detail out before you leave here today. I won't send you into this until you're completely prepared. Until we know _exactly_ what's at stake."

"Well what else could be at stake?" Daryl asked.

"Isn't a literal _murderer_ walking free bad enough?" Beth agreed.

Morgan frowned and massaged his temple absent-mindedly. He narrowed his eyes and focused them intensely on Beth. "When I saw y'all at Lady Jadis's shop… there was something on the wall. It was blurry, I couldn't quite make it out. And it seemed to make Jadis uncomfortable. I didn't catch everything she said, but she mentioned somethin' about a demon - "

Daryl interjected, "Jadis - the psychic?"

Beth nodded in confirmation.

He shook his head and asked, "How'd you even get Merle ta go in there? He fuckin' _hates_ psychics, wouldn't go within twenty feet of 'em."

Morgan blinked and furrowed his brow with confusion. "Why's that?"

Daryl shrugged and casually explained, "He dated some psychic chick a while back, not long after he got outta the military. Fell in love with 'er an' she robbed him blind. Took everythin' he had an' disappeared in the middle of the night. He never found her an' he never fuckin' got over it neither. He was still bitchin' about how _all psychics should be shot _or some shit the last time I got drunk with 'im."

"Jesus Christ, jus' go blabbin' my whole goddamn life story, why don'tcha," Merle said. "Wasn't even like that. I didn't _love_ that cunt - she was just a good lay. Ain't got nothin' ta do with the fact that them phony-ass psychics are all a buncha bottom-dwelling fuckin' bloodsuckers."

Beth recalled how uneasy Merle had been inside Lady Jadis's place of business, and how uneasy he'd been even after they'd driven away. She smirked and said, "Sounds like Merle got his heart broken an' never quite got over it."

"Fuck off," Merle snapped.

Daryl chuckled. "Definitely. He never dated anybody again after that chick."

"Goddammit, Daryl! Shut yer mouth already!" Merle cried out.

Morgan had a small half-smile on his face as he said, "I love when things come together like this. You never really know someone until you've spoken with their siblings." He turned his focus back to Beth and his smile faded as he added, "But this picture he pointed out on Jadis's wall - can you tell me what it looked like? Why it was mentioned at all?"

Beth quickly nodded as the memory popped into her head and explained, "Yeah - the poster. It was a painting of a guy that Merle asked about, like he recognized it. A black guy in a hat with a beard, an' there was a weird symbol in the corner. Jadis said it was some infamous demon or somethin'. But what's that gotta do with…?"

Her voice trailed off as it clicked in her head. Morgan watched her expectantly, waiting for her to put the pieces together.

Dread turned her blood to ice within her veins. She could no longer feel Daryl's hand in her own.

When Morgan saw the realization slowly crossing her face, he said, "And _that _is exactly what I'm worried could be at stake here."

Merle remained silent behind him. And he suddenly looked very pale - even for a dead guy.

If she'd thought he looked scared before, that was nothing compared to the terror that was shadowing his features now.

**to be continued...**


	18. A Deal with The Devil's BFF

**A Deal with The Devil's BFF**

"What… like he made a deal with a demon or something?" Beth asked, her voice gone quiet as all the possibilities raced through her mind.

She almost wanted to laugh at the words that came out of her mouth, but after everything she'd learned over the last half-hour, she wasn't so sure any part of this was funny anymore. It had been a worst case scenario, more like an unfathomable prospect, when she'd left Lady Jadis's shop. But now it was all too real. All too terrifying.

"Sounds like some shit that dumbass would do," Daryl remarked.

"Can you _stop_ saying that?!" Merle burst out. "I'm not that goddamn predictable, gimme a little credit here."

"You have a _reputation_, Merle," Morgan quipped without looking back at him. "And it precedes you. No use in gettin' all huffy about it now."

"Look, if he made a deal with a fuckin' _demon_, I ain't tryin'a get all wrapped up in that," Daryl stated, leaning forward in his chair. His grasp on Beth's hand loosened. "Whatever dumbass shit he did with his soul is his own damn problem."

Merle sighed and Beth glanced over at him suspiciously, but his face was still pale and his expression was unreadable.

"I agree," Morgan said. "Unfortunately, it's rarely that simple."

"So are you gonna tell us?" Beth asked, glaring at Merle expectantly.

He shifted uncomfortably against the wall but didn't open his mouth.

"We don't need him to," Morgan said simply. "It'll be easier fer all of us if I just find out myself."

"How?" Beth and Daryl asked in unison. They exchanged a glance before Daryl pulled his hand out of hers, reaching up to scratch his jaw awkwardly as she retracted her own hand and placed it in her lap. She felt the heat rising in her cheeks but tried to ignore it.

Morgan raised his eyebrows and gestured to the crystal ball. "Y'all think I'm kiddin' about this thing?"

Daryl chuckled and Beth shook her head.

"But how's it work?" She asked curiously.

Morgan grinned. "Allow me ta demonstrate."

He waved a hand in Merle's direction, urging him to join them at the table. Merle leaned away from the wall but hesitated.

"Get on over here," Morgan demanded impatiently. "Put yer damn hand on the glass. That's all you gotta do, it's not hard."

Merle didn't move. Morgan sighed.

"Don't make me turn these nice folks away after they drove so far ta get out here an' clean up _your_ mess," he reiterated.

Beth watched Merle and when he remained motionless, a scowl on his face, she hissed out through clenched teeth, "_Do_ it."

"C'mon, man - if you ain't gonna tell us, we gotta find out somehow," Daryl joined in, shooting a glance in Merle's general direction. "You want me ta help, you gotta fuckin' help _me_ a little."

Merle groaned and stomped forward, angry and begrudging as he plopped down in the chair between Daryl and Morgan. With a dramatic sigh, he reached out and placed his open palm against the thick glass of the crystal ball.

"Now we're cookin' with gas," Morgan muttered, pleased. He gestured to Beth and Daryl and instructed them, "Go on now - you, too. Put yer dominant hands on the glass."

Beth exchanged an uneasy glance with Daryl, but he shrugged and gave her a look that said, _Might as well_. She nodded back before reaching her right hand out across the table. Daryl did the same. The glass was cool but it quickly grew warm beneath their touch.

Morgan leaned forward until his face was inches away from the crystal ball, staring into the open space between Merle's, Beth's, and Daryl's spread fingers and flattened palms. He cleared his throat and there was a long moment of silence.

"Okay," he finally said, his voice barely more than a whisper that seemed to echo off the cabin walls. "Now this is where it's gonna get a little _weird_. So prepare yourselves."

Daryl huffed out a breathy half-laugh. "Weirder'an it's already been?"

Morgan nodded and lifted his gaze to meet Daryl's. "Oh yeah. _A lot _weirder."

Beth was about to ask what he meant, but then the cabin faded away.

Morgan disappeared, his entire being dribbling away like wet paint being washed off concrete. Her breath caught in her throat and she looked over to see Daryl disappearing in the same fashion. Merle faded like a cloud of dust in the wind, leaving only darkness in his wake.

She was surrounded by blackness, swallowed up by an abyss of absolutely _nothing_.

And then things got a lot weirder.

* * *

Beth couldn't move, couldn't speak, couldn't breathe. She couldn't even think except to take in the scene playing out before her like some kind of old movie. Everything was hazy and surreal. She tried to comprehend what was happening but she couldn't even process why she was there or what she was witnessing.

All she could do was watch.

_He was walking down a long, dark road. Laughter echoed out around him, deep and jarring, cold and foreboding. Malicious._

_He couldn't see where it was coming from. The sound reverberated through his bones, sent a harsh chill down his spine. He stopped walking and looked around._

_He was lost. He didn't recognize this place._

_He found himself at a crossroads. There was no grass, just muddy earth and a long gravel road that split into two separate dirt roads. They both appeared to lead forward and drift off into nothing - shadows and darkness, a path he couldn't clearly make out._

_The sky was completely overcast with heavy gray clouds. There was no sun to be seen. There were no birds chirping, no cicadas screeching, none of the nature sounds that should've been present. He looked back over his shoulder, towards where he'd come from. But the road was gone. There was only darkness in his wake; miles and miles of unending, black nothingness._

_The deep laughter echoed out around him once more. He shivered. The dark purple ring around his neck itched but he didn't scratch it._

"_The Horrible Merle Dixon… I knew you'd find your way to me one day."_

_Merle blinked and a man appeared before him. He had two great black dogs at his sides, sitting at attention. They looked like some terrifying cross between a Rottweiler and a Great Dane, with more wolf than anything else. Their sharp teeth peeked out from beneath meaty jowls. Their eyes were red - just like the man's. He couldn't have been less than 7 feet tall, with broad shoulders and a long black trenchcoat over patched-up, old-timey clothing and a pair of moss green leather boots. His skin was dark brown, nearly the color of charcoal and perfectly smooth without any wrinkles or signs of aging. The only mark on his face was the blood red tattoo below his right eye - a strange symbol that resembled some kind of weird compass. He looked like he could be anywhere from 26 to 66 years old - it was hard to tell exactly. His hair was in long, loose dreads that reached the middle of his barrel chest, nappy and even blacker than his complexion, although the neatly-trimmed beard on his face was speckled with gray. He had sharp cheekbones and a strong, defined jaw, and his large hands were folded over the top of a cane. The head of the cane was a shiny silver skull. _

_He was laughing, grinning to bare a set of large, straight, pearly white teeth._

_And Merle had always been one to find humor in most everything, but right now he didn't feel much like laughing. He couldn't figure out what the hell this guy thought was so funny._

_In all honesty, he was pretty fucking confused. And lost. And he really didn't like being lost. Almost as much as he didn't like being the butt of the joke._

"_The fuck's so funny? Who the hell're you? Where am I?!"_

_The man laughed harder. He clasped the cane before him, standing tall and smug. Merle didn't much care for smug assholes._

"_All that time spent thinking you were the smartest guy in the room, so ignorantly assuming you had it all figured out… Now look at you, Merle." The man spoke perfect English, though there was a thick Creole accent to his deep voice. "It's quite the rude awakening, isn't it? People like you are exactly why I've stayed in business all these millennia." He chuckled coldly. "Oh, I have to say, this never gets old."_

_Merle clenched his fists at his sides, calling this man every derogatory name he could think of inside his head. But the words couldn't seem to find their way to his mouth like they normally would._

_When he finally found his voice again, it came out hoarse and shaky. "How d'you know my name? What the hell is this place?"_

_The man's grin widened. "This is what comes after, Merle Dixon - after that long and fruitless life you led."_

_Merle narrowed his eyes in confusion._

"_You're dead," the man clarified, his menacing smile unwavering. "Welcome to the Crossroads. Next stop: Hell."_

_This time, Merle couldn't help himself. He began laughing, loud and obnoxious, his belly shaking. It wasn't really funny, but… it was kinda funny._

"_You gotta be shittin' me," he said once his laughter died down. "This is Hell? I was expectin' a lot more'an this." He gestured around him, visibly unimpressed._

_The man's smile didn't falter, though. He shook his head and explained, "No, this is the last stop before you get to Hell. This is where you get a little taste of God's sweet mercy."_

_Merle blinked, taken aback. It suddenly didn't feel so funny anymore._

"_Yes, even you - the pitiful firstborn son of William Dixon and Leanne Jacobs - will be offered compassion in the wake of all your sins," the man went on. "This is where you get one last chance to make something worthwhile of that long, pathetic life you wasted. All fifty-one years, eight months, seventeen days, thirteen hours, eleven minutes, and seven seconds of your time spent on Earth."_

_Merle was thrown off only momentarily by all the things this guy knew about him. Then his natural snarky defenses kicked in._

"_Well I know you ain't God, an' yer a little too dark ta be Jesus - so're you the Devil? Came out ta welcome me yerself, did'ja?" He guessed, smirking. "Shoulda known The Infamous Merle Dixon would get a li'l VIP treatment from Satan himself."_

_The man laughed and shook his head. "Don't flatter yourself. Lucifer is busy with much more important matters. When it comes to sad little souls like yours, I've always had the final say."_

_Merle frowned._

"_I am Papa Legba," the man went on, flashing that toothy white grin again. "And I am generously offering you a chance to atone for your biggest mistake, Merle."_

"_Hah!" Merle barked out. "Biggest mistake? Which one?"_

_He laughed and surprisingly, Papa Legba did the same. Though he was clearly finding it humorous for different reasons._

"_Well I sure as shit ain't callin' you Papa. An' I can't say I've ever heard a you neither," Merle remarked smugly._

"_That doesn't surprise me," the other man smiled patiently. "Small minds like yours rarely know of my existence, nor can they fathom the power I hold. I've been here since the Beginning of Days. And I will remain until the End. Waiting. Billions know my name, and even more dread the very sound of it."_

_Merle eyeballed him doubtfully and muttered, "O-o-kay… whatever you say, dude."_

_If this asshole was trying to spook him, it wasn't gonna work. Merle wasn't the type to be scared of anybody, no matter how big and black and intimidating they were._

_Papa Legba chuckled. "It's safe to say you fully expected to go to Hell. Correct?"_

_Merle nodded. "I never tried ta be a saint. Heaven sounds awful fuckin' boring anyhow."_

_Legba let out another deep chuckle and went on, "You realize that means an eternity spent being tortured in every way imaginable? It's not a party."_

_Merle shrugged nonchalantly. "Whatever. 'Least I'll know everybody there. Figured it wouldn't be too bad s'long as I got a couple familiar faces around me."_

_Papa Legba laughed harder at this. He grinned, shaking his head. "You truly are something else. This will be even easier than I could've guessed."_

"_Huh? What're you talkin' about - am I goin' ta Hell or what? Quit beatin' around the bush an' get this show on the road already."_

_Legba seemed amused. He went on, "You like to gamble, don't you, Merle? You're a man who won't turn down a good deal when he finds one."_

_Merle nodded, hesitating. But his attention was piqued. "Sure. Never said no if there was somethin' decent in it fer me. Why?"_

"_What if I told you there's a special place in Hell? Reserved for those like you?"_

"_I'd tell ya that you ain't the first asshole who's said that ta me." Merle cackled._

_Legba laughed as well before continuing, "Except I mean it quite literally. If you want the VIP treatment during your eternity in Hell, then you'll wanna make a deal with me."_

"_I fuckin' knew there was a VIP! Alrigh', you got my attention. Keep talkin'."_

"_I am the only one who can promise you such a thing, Merle Dixon." His red eyes narrowed intensely and his voice lowered, "Those with no rightful place on Earth or in The Promised Land often find their place with Papa Legba. It comes at a great cost, but it is its own greatest reward."_

_Then he shrugged and casually added, "I mean, if you care about your soul's eternal resting place."_

"_Alright, alright - I get it. Ya already sold me," Merle said, sucking his teeth and eyeing Legba suspiciously. "I'll make a deal with ya. But I ain't gonna beg you fer nothin'."_

_Legba chuckled. "Not yet, you won't."_

"_What d'you want from me, exactly?" Merle asked. "What's the stipulations here? Any fine print I oughta know about?"_

"_Ah, that's the tricky part," Legba said, holding up a finger and wagging it in Merle's direction. "Part of the deal is that you cannot know the full circumstances of the deal; you must figure it out along the way. And if you fail, you will not be the only one to pay the price."_

"_Huh," Merle grunted. "Sounds sketchy. I'ono if I like that."_

_Legba shrugged, clasping both hands around the skullhead of his cane once more. "It's too late to back out now. You've already agreed."_

_Shit, this guy was a real stickler. But then again, Merle should've known better than to expect anything else when dealing with one of Satan's close pals. He should've watched his mouth a little better, especially when he was fixing to make a deal with - what he could only guess was - a literal demon._

_Whatever. He'd make it work in his favor. He always did. Besides, VIP treatment in Hell didn't sound half bad. Wasn't like he had a whole hell of a lot of other options. (Or any options at all.) He might not be able to keep all the spoils and fuck this guy over like he normally would, but he'd be damned if he wasn't gonna try and squeeze a little more out of it for himself. There was always a little more in it for ol' Merle._

"_So how the hell's that supposed to work?" He asked. "How'm I s'posed ta keep my end of a deal if I can't know the stipulations? That don't make no goddamn sense, Legba."_

_Papa Legba smiled back. "Think of it as a final journey of redemption for your weary soul. Like your father used to say: 'it builds character.'" He laughed coldly at his own joke._

_Merle swallowed hard, a little put-off by the mention of his pa's near-forgotten motto. Those had always been some of the worst whippings he'd ever received from the old bastard. He still had the scars on his back to show for them._

_He quickly composed himself and snapped, "The fuck does buildin' character matter when I'm already dead? How d'you expect me ta get anythin' done if nobody's gonna be able ta see me? You expect me ta haunt somebody till they do yer bidding for you or somethin'? I gotta go an' possess somebody 'cause you can't?"_

"_Nothing like that," Legba assured, smirking. "Calm yourself. You'll figure it out along the way. You're a smart man, Merle - right? You've always been able to forge your own path. You've always been more strategic than most other people realized… wouldn't you say?"_

_The tone of Legba's voice sent a cold fear through Merle's entire body, though he didn't understand why. His mouth had gone dry and the purple mark around his neck was itching again. He refused to reach up and scratch it. He nodded._

"_Let's make a game of it, shall we?" Legba's smirk grew into an excited smile. "I'll give you a clue and a motive, and - hell, I'll be generous and answer one question as well."_

"_A game?" Merle choked out. "What if I don't wanna play?"_

_Legba shrugged, appearing completely unaffected. "Well then, I guess you can go back to Earth without any sort of clue and we'll just hope for the best. If you fail, you lose even more than you've bargained. But hey - maybe you'll figure it out all on your own. Who's to say?"_

"_Uh - alright," Merle quickly said. "I-I'll take the clues. The motive - whatever you got. I ain't never been so good at solvin' mysteries."_

_He had to admit, the idea of being tortured for all of eternity was getting scarier the more he thought about it. And he wasn't one to back out of a decent deal. No point in changing things up now that he was dead._

"_I know," Legba grinned. "Now listen: there is one person on Earth who can help you. This person is a Visitor, constantly travelling between this plane and the last. Perhaps you can find them. Perhaps you can convince them to help you."_

"_What's a Visitor - "_

_Legba put up a hand to silence him. "Hunh-uh - that was your clue. Now here is your motive: as I said earlier, you're being given the chance to fix your biggest mistake."_

_When he didn't say anything else for several long seconds, Merle burst out, "My 'biggest mistake?' What the hell was my BIGGEST mistake? That could be fuckin' anything!"_

_Legba smirked and replied simply, "Your brother."_

_Merle's stomach dropped down to his feet and it suddenly felt as though all the air had been knocked out of his lungs. He gaped up at Papa Legba, blinking rapidly and trying to comprehend what he'd been told._

_Shit, did he just use his only question without thinking about it?_

"_What's Daryl gotta do with this? We barely even talk anymore," Merle snapped, fear rushing through him like cold water. "Leave him out of it, he's still alive. If I'm dead, it shouldn't - hol' up, how'd I die anyhow? 'S that got somethin' ta do with all this?"_

_Legba shook his head. "I answered one question. The rest is up to you, Merle."_

"_But I don't even know all the stipulations yet! This ain't fair!"_

"_Life's not fair. Did you really think Death would be?"_

_Merle sighed in defeat, hands on his hips and shoulders slumped. "Touché, Papa."_

_Shit. Shit shit shit fuck. He was really up a creek without a paddle now. He wasn't no damn detective, how the hell was he supposed to piece this puzzle together? How was he supposed to find one stupid person out of seven fucking billion? Unless that one person could be his brother… was it possible that Daryl could be the one who was able to help him? Maybe they'd have to help each other? Daryl wouldn't like that, but he'd do it. Merle had no doubt his little brother would come through if he knew Merle needed him. But what if he couldn't? Would they have to involve some kind of third party? Something inside him told Merle that it wouldn't be that easy. This Papa Legba guy was serious and he wasn't giving Merle much wiggle room._

_Regardless, Merle tried to wiggle._

"_So if I can't do it - or if I jus' decide not to - what happens? I get tortured in Hell? Can't be much worse'an bein' stationed in Afghanistan. Or growin' up with my old man."_

_Legba laughed loudly and the sound echoed around them. Then he said, "The Middle East is nothing compared to what awaits you in Hell. Your old man will be able to tell you - he's already down there. I'm sure he's nearly accustomed to the constant agony at this point. You'll be free to ask him for tips once you two are reunited." He smiled maliciously and added, "You put him there, after all. It's only just that you would be eternal roommates."_

_Oh, fuck. Fuck that. Shit just got way too real. No way in Hell - literally - would Merle spend eternity next to his piece of shit pa, listening to him moan and complain. Fuck. That._

"_But Daryl'd be left out of it," Merle contemplated aloud as the thought drifted through his mind. "So... "_

_Goddammit, the things he'd do for his dumbass baby brother._

"_For now," Legba said ominously. "Until he meets his end and faces the same eternity. It won't be a party but it will certainly be a family reunion - of sorts." He chuckled._

"_That ain't fuckin' funny, man," Merle scolded, eyes narrowed._

_Legba's smile immediately vanished and the look in his eyes made Merle freeze in place, the breath hitching inside his chest._

"_No, it's hilarious," Legba said firmly, his red eyes flashing to crimson. "I told you this deal would come at a great cost. A reward such as mine must be earned. And if you go back on your word, you will pay the price with more than just your cheap soul. Papa Legba cannot be deceived. I'll take your brother's soul for my own as well."_

"_What - ! How the fuck does that work?! His soul ain't mine ta even offer!"_

"_Yet you did. You've always been more than willing to let others deal with the consequences of your actions… Since the moment your mother took her last breath, your brother's soul has rested heavily in your hands. Were you truly too blind to see that, Merle? Or did you turn away from the fact, just as you turned away from everything else that had any real meaning?" He shook his head in disappointment and smirked. "You molded him. You shaped your brother's essence more than anyone else ever could have. You nearly gave a purpose to your life - but then you fucked it up. Just like you fuck everything up. You followed the most self-serving path, as you always have. And along the way, Daryl was left with the insurmountable debt of your sins. His soul was left to drag around the rotting dead weight of your existence."_

_His voice seemed to boom with finality as he declared, "For all of eternity, the few people you ever loved will pay the price for your transgressions, Merle Dixon."_

_Merle was stunned speechless. He'd forgotten how to breathe._

"_And yet, I am offering you a chance at redemption. A chance at something that nearly resembles salvation. What more could you possibly ask for?" Legba's thick eyebrows rose upward, his tone softening just slightly. "A chance to not only redeem your precious brother's soul, but to give it a push in the right direction…?"_

"_A push in the right direction? 'S that the same thing as savin' it? I mighta fucked up later on, but I wasn't the one who fucked 'im all up ta start. That was Pa."_

"_You'll soon find out how everything you did - and didn't do - is all intertwined; how it will affect you and your brother's souls for the rest of Time. And if you think you can take a detour or cheat your way past Papa Legba, there will be many more than you who must face the dire consequences."_

_Merle grunted. "So it's like a bet… Can't say yer the worst person I ever made a bet with," he grumbled unhappily. "But this shit comes with interest? I thought the afterlife was s'posed ta be a little more reasonable than that."_

_Legba chuckled and jabbed a thumb towards the sky. "You're thinking of the Upper Floor. We do things a bit differently around here." He winked and flashed that sparkly white grin for the millionth time. Too damn cocky for his own good, in Merle's opinion._

_This guy was really starting to get on his nerves. Merle didn't like when there was a bunch of nonsense fine print, all these shady details and bullshit mysteries. And who the hell tricks somebody into a deal that quick?_

_Nonetheless, he got an inexplicable sense that Legba wasn't one to be fucked with. And when it came to Daryl, Merle wasn't sure he was willing to take any chances._

_Although that wasn't gonna stop him from trying to sweeten the deal. Just a little. Just so he could feel like he got something more out of it. He couldn't leave feeling inferior to this dark-skinned prick. Not after all his ass-backwards stipulations and stupid jokes. Especially not after he so blatantly threatened Daryl._

"_I want somethin' else," Merle declared, straightening his back and forcing himself to meet Papa Legba's deep red eyes._

_The purple ring around his neck was itching like crazy now and it was taking every last ounce of willpower within him not to scratch at it wildly. He was nervous. And he fucking hated feeling so nervous, so antsy, with his hands just doing nothing._

_Papa Legba perked up, smirking. He looked Merle up and down before lazily asking, "You truly are willful. You dare ask for more?"_

"_Jus' one more thing - a small thing. Ain't much else I could ask for, sure. But I gotta get somethin' 'fore I go out doin' all this legwork that you don't wanna do," Merle explained, hoping his politeness would help to persuade the other man._

_Legba tightened his grasp on the skullhead cane and glared down his nose at Merle. "I like your guts, Merle Dixon. You're obnoxious and atrocious. Yet I sense a familiarity in your dark, disgusting soul. It's been centuries since I last dealt with someone so entertaining. You've already shown more respect than I could've ever expected from you. And I know you humans thrive off positive reinforcement, so I'll be generous this time…" He tilted his head to the side and asked, "What do you want?"_

_Merle opened his mouth but Legba stopped him to add, "There is no going back on the deal we've already made. This must be additional. I don't waive rules or make exceptions for anyone. Not even you."_

_Merle quickly nodded and tried to sound convincing as he suggested, "'M not askin' fer no exceptions. Just some smokes. I want cigarettes - AND a lighter that works. I'ono if that's part a the deal fer the VIP section but even if it is, I want 'em now. So I got somethin' ta do while I'm stuck on Earth."_

_Legba blinked, obviously surprised. He smirked like it was a joke. "Cigarettes? Really?"_

_Merle nodded again, speaking more decisively, "I smoked my whole damn life an' I ain't stoppin' now. Shit, even people in rehab are allowed ta smoke. 'M not gonna ask fer the drugs or the booze or nothin' else like that, but I reckon a pack of smokes that don't ever run out is a pretty reasonable request. 'Specially if I'm gonna be searchin' fer some singular random person that can see me somewhere within the seven billion fuckers crowdin' the planet. You got any idea how stressful that's gonna be?"_

_Legba laughed, long and slow._

"_You gonna try ta tell me I'm wrong ta ask fer a li'l perk of my own, Papa Legba?"_

_He studied Merle with crimson eyes, endlessly amused by the recently deceased man. Then he nodded._

"_That's the most human - yet the least ridiculous - request I've had all year," he smiled. "Deal." He snapped his fingers._

_A pack of cigarettes and a lighter solidified inside Merle's pocket. He patted it with his hand and grinned. It was about damn time he got something outta this debacle._

"_And for that, you will give me the soul of another," Papa Legba declared. "If you succeed, your soul is mine. If you fail, I will have your soul and your brother's - and I'll send them both to the lowest depths of Hell. Now, because of your selfish request, you will owe me a second soul regardless of your success. And it will be obtained by any means necessary. Papa Legba does not deal in uncertainties."_

"_What - no! Hey, that wasn't the deal!" Merle cried, outraged. "You said it couldn't be an exception to the first deal we made! Uncertainties, my fuckin' ass. Yer goin' back on yer own word, Legba!"_

_Papa Legba laughed condescendingly. "I said you couldn't go back on the first deal - I never said it couldn't be an addition. You stated your stipulations, and I stated mine in return. Papa Legba does not make deals at a low cost."_

_Merle frowned. "Papa Legba doesn't this an' Papa Legba doesn't that," he mocked, rolling his eyes. "How the fuck was I s'posed ta know?"_

"_You're an ignorant mortal, Merle Dixon. Though you are a half-decent negotiator," Legba admitted, somewhat amused. "Consider yourself lucky; you've managed to obtain the easy end of our bargain. Very few can say they've persuaded Papa Legba to offer more than what was originally proposed. I'm not even demanding any dark or light soul in particular, all I demand is a soul. That will be simple enough for you… I must be feeling terribly generous for a change. It's been a long time since someone convinced me to make an addendum."_

_He chuckled and shook his head. "You've truly swindled me today, Merle Dixon. You should be proud of yourself."_

_But Merle didn't feel like he had. In fact, he got the impression that Papa Legba was always a step ahead of him, no matter what he did._

_Merle forced a tight-lipped smile. The undeserved pride that had always resided within him was nowhere to be found right now. The cigarettes in his pocket suddenly felt like a heavy lead weight. _

"_One more question," he muttered._

_Papa Legba's eyes lit up. "Pertaining to our deal? You've already used your one question. If I tell you anything else, it will no longer be fun for me." He pouted sarcastically for a second. Then his expression morphed into a grotesque grin of sick amusement._

"_Nah," Merle shook his head, unfazed. "Not that. I jus' gotta know: 's there lotsa pretty girls in that VIP section? Bitches that'll suck my dick AND swallow once I'm there?"_

_Legba burst out laughing, leaning forward on his cane until his dreads shagged down over his face. Then he leaned back and composed himself before responding, "All that and more, my dear naive mortal. Hell's not so bad if you can get yourself on the right lists."_

_He winked and Merle smirked, feeling a little more hopeful._

"_Good luck, Merle Dixon. You're gonna need it."_

_Before Merle could ask what he meant by that, Papa Legba was lazily waving a hand. And suddenly, the two dogs at his sides were leaping into action, teeth bared as they snarled threateningly and locked their murderous gazes on Merle._

_He looked to Legba desperately. "What - ?"_

_Papa Legba raised his eyebrows and grinned, baring his white and shiny teeth. "Run. Run for your life, Merle Dixon. Run for the lives of those whose souls you've dared to offer at my feet. Run until you find them." He chuckled, an empty sound pouring from his throat. "And once you do, you cannot stop. There is no due to Papa Legba that goes uncollected. My Hellhounds will seek you out. You will not slow down until they are satiated. And they will never be satiated until my debts are paid… in full. With interest."_

_His cold and loud laughter echoed out around Merle, as though it were falling from the clouds above._

"_Run for everything that ever meant shit to you, Merle. Run… NOW." Papa Legba cackled louder. Colder. It filled Merle's ears with a painful, deafening ring._

_The hounds growled and leapt at Merle. But before they had the chance to reach him, he was turning and sprinting in the opposite direction. Like his very soul depended on it. Because it did._

_His blood rushed and his legs pushed him forward as he raced down the gravel road. He headed full-speed into the never-ending darkness and pitch black shadows, the menacing growls and barks of the great black dogs following behind him._

_And then he stepped out into the bright Georgia sunlight._

_Everything else disappeared. It all went silent, even the seemingly unending laughter that had engulfed him mere seconds ago. He glanced back and saw that the hounds were gone._

_He was outside his yellow Caution tape-draped cabin. He was alone._

_Merle was dead. But he was far from gone._

**to be continued...**

* * *

**A/N: **Hope y'all enjoyed my depiction of Papa Legba. I took some creative liberties with him, and I'll probably keep doing that with various lore throughout the fic :)


	19. You Be Fred and I'll Be Daphne

**You Be Fred and I'll Be Daphne**

Reality resumed and washed over Beth like a tsunami.

She blinked, frozen and unable to take a breath for several long seconds. The scene she'd just been enveloped in faded away like an old filmstrip skipping through a projector. She blinked again and everything went back to normal, as if it had never changed in the first place.

She was inside the swamp house once more. She was sitting across from Morgan and next to Daryl. There was a warm crystal ball beneath her palm. Merle was perched in the seat between Morgan and Daryl. Everything was returned to its rightful place.

She was present in the mortal plane, where she belonged.

And the image she'd just witnessed, the scene that she'd sat back and watched while petrified… she knew now that it was a result of the crystal ball. But more importantly, she knew that it was a result of _Merle_.

The air returned to her body and she took a deep breath, reflexively glancing over at Daryl as she pulled her hand back. He did the same, though the expression on his face was much more prevalent. He was visibly sickened, his face pale and drained. Like he'd just seen a ghost.

Or, more accurately, a demon.

"Well… that explains a lot," Morgan said, leaning back in his chair to gaze at Beth and Daryl with a new and slightly awkward understanding.

"This is bullshit!" Merle cried, jerking his hand back and standing to his feet abruptly. He pointed a finger at Morgan in accusation. "You fuckin' tricked me! Puttin' my goddamn personal memories out there like that, like-like some kinda fuckin' _movie_! I never agreed to that shit! Not one a y'all's got any business seein' what I fuckin' saw after I died."

But Daryl couldn't hear him. The living Dixon was shoving his own chair back away from the table, nearly knocking it over entirely. His face was getting paler, if that was possible. He clutched at his stomach, shaking his head and pursing his lips.

"What - Daryl, are you okay?" Beth asked, standing up and reaching out for him.

He backed away and shot an accusatory glance in Morgan's direction, then spun around and rushed out the backdoor. He clutched his stomach the whole way, doubled over like he was about to be sick. The door slammed shut behind him.

Beth turned on Merle with fire in her eyes. "I knew you were selfish, but this - this a whole new low. Even for _you_."

Before he could defend himself, she was spinning on her heel and hurrying out the door after Daryl. She found him on the porch, leaning over the railing and vomiting loudly into the murky water below. She could see how pale and shaky he was from a few feet away and she didn't dare step any closer, trying to give him plenty of breathing room.

"If I'd had any idea," she started, hesitantly reaching out to place a soothing hand on his back but deciding against it when he began heaving again.

She clasped her hands tightly in front of her instead, wringing them nervously. She wasn't even sure where she'd been going with that sentence. What was she supposed to say to him right now? Because 'sorry' didn't feel like nearly enough. She knew it wasn't all her fault, but it certainly felt like it was. If she hadn't dragged him into this, he would've been none the wiser. He could've gone on living his normal life, happily unaware that demons were real or that his soul was in danger.

Luckily, Morgan appeared at that moment. He stepped out onto the porch with them, studying Daryl with a frown. He exchanged a look with Beth and they silently agreed that this was probably the best possible reaction Daryl could be having right now. In all actuality, Beth had expected him to leap out of his chair and start _fighting_, not throwing up.

Then again… how would _she_ react if she'd just found out that her brother wagered her soul to a demon for a pack of cigarettes? Probably a lot like this, she reckoned.

"Have you eaten today?" Morgan directed his question at Daryl's back.

Daryl spit out into the water and raised his head, roughly wiping the back of his hand across his nose and mouth. "Yeah." He pointed downward. "There's the biscuits an' gravy I had this mornin' - right there."

Morgan shook his head and said, "Breakfast was hours ago. No lunch? Y'all shouldn't have come out here on empty stomachs."

"I got some snacks in the truck," Beth offered. "I picked 'em up at the last gas station we stopped at."

"No, no. Y'all need ta eat real food," Morgan dismissed her suggestion. "I'll heat up some soup."

Daryl finally turned around, leaning back against the railing with weak legs. His face was whiter than Beth had ever seen it and he couldn't seem to lift his eyes from the ground. "That's real kind of you, but the las' thing I can think about doin' right now is eating. I can't... " His voice trailed off and he sighed, running a hand through his hair to push it off his perspiring forehead.

"I know it's a lot to take in, especially all at once like this. I wish it could all be under better circumstances, but that's never how these things work," Morgan said, glancing to Beth and raising his eyebrows. "It's a bit traumatizing. But you'll get used to it - _both_ of you. Trust me. It might seem a little…"

"_Hopeless_?" Daryl finished for him.

But Morgan quickly shook his head. "Not at all. This situation is anything _but_ hopeless, Daryl."

"Oh yeah?" Daryl lifted his gaze and met Morgan's with narrowed eyes. "Easy ta say when yer soul ain't been sold to a demon."

"Papa Legba is tricky, but he's also binded by the deals he makes," Morgan explained patiently. "He demands two souls - yours is expected by default, but that can be changed. There are plenty of ways to fulfill Merle's end of the bargain without damning your soul to Hell."

"This must've been what Merle meant," Beth said.

Daryl and Morgan both looked at her quizzically.

She quickly went on, "Earlier - when he made me promise to help him 'no matter what I found out.' It's no wonder he was so spooked. He knew this would have to happen. He knew he'd have to fess up eventually an' admit to what he did if he wants any chance of saving Daryl's soul."

"Save it? He already fuckin' _sold_ it!" Daryl growled.

"Yeah, but he didn't _just_ make me promise to help _him_," she said, growing a bit defensive but trying to speak to him as calmly as possible. "He practically _begged_ me not to give up on you guys. Not to give up on you specifically, Daryl."

Daryl narrowed his eyes, clearly unconvinced.

Beth sighed and hoped she wouldn't regret voicing her next thought aloud: "I - I hate to say it and risk soundin' like I'm defending his terrible choices, but… I don't think Merle _meant_ to sell your soul. It looked like an accident."

"Oh, _fuck_ you!" Daryl spat, straightening up and jabbing an accusatory finger at her. "Defending 'im? Yer tryin' ta _justify_ him! I saw the same goddamn thing you saw an' he flat-out _sold_ my fuckin' _soul_ ta some demon he ain't ever heard of before - and fer _what_? A nicer place in Hell? A pack of fucking _smokes_?!"

She reeled, taking a step back and letting him sling his anger toward her. She knew she shouldn't have dared sympathize with Merle aloud nor attempt at defending him. But she couldn't help it. Yeah, he was the biggest asshole she'd ever met… but he was also stupid. _Really_ stupid. Stupid enough to jump into a deal without realizing exactly what the stakes were.

And when it came to Daryl, she couldn't see a single ounce of malice in Merle. He loved his brother. Hell, his brother was probably the _only_ person he loved. Merle had clearly been terrified to learn that he'd wagered Daryl's pending eternity in the mix of everything else.

_He thought he was selling his own soul,_ she thought sadly. _How was he supposed to know that his brother's was part of a package deal?_

"I hate to say she's right. But," Morgan intervened, giving Daryl a look of disappointment. "She's kinda right. Merle had no idea your soul was on the line when he initially agreed to the terms."

Daryl's anger flared and he fired back at both of them, "That fuckin' guy said it himself - Merle shoulda _known_! But he turned a blind eye to it, jus' like he turned a blind eye ta every fuckin' thing that ever meant _shit_ in his life. An' even after he already made one deal he couldn't get out of, he went on ta make another deal. Fer no goddamn reason 'cept he's greedy!"

Morgan put up a hand to stop him.

"C'mon now, Daryl," he said. "You and I both know how stupid your brother is. Do you really believe that he would've put your eternal soul on the line like that? His own, sure. He was downright _eager_ to offer his soul to the first bidder. But as I said, Papa Legba is tricky. And Merle is definitely not the sharpest tool."

"You know I can fuckin' _hear_ you, right?" Merle appeared beside the backdoor, leaning against the outer wall of the cabin with his arms crossed over his chest. "If I was so goddamn stupid, I wouldn't have been able ta swindle that dumbass Legba guy into another deal. Shit, he wouldn't have even told me as much as he did if I hadn't sweet-talked his sorry ass. Y'all forgettin' that part? How convenient."

But his usual smug expression was gone, replaced by something that resembled uncertainty and fear. And his voice reflected the same, though he was trying to cover it up with his usual smartass tone.

"I think it may be best if you stay outta this for the moment," Morgan told him firmly.

"He follow me out here?" Daryl asked, glancing toward the direction that Morgan was speaking. "Fuckin' stupid prick - I hope yer happy, asshole! If you came back ta life right now, I'd fucking kill you all over again!"

"I'd like ta see you try," Merle sneered. But his mask was slipping; the disappointment and sadness was prevalent in his expression, dimming his eyes and dulling his voice.

"This is what you were afraid of, huh?" Beth asked him.

He flicked his icy blue gaze over to meet hers and glared. "I ain't afraid a _nothin'_. Never was when I was alive, why would I be now that I'm dead?"

"Because you know what's waiting for you if you fail," she said matter-of-factly. "And you know there's no weaslin' yer way out of it this time. And you know that _Daryl_ will be the one ta suffer. That's what you were afraid of the whole time, wasn't it? That's why you were so worried I might refuse to help you. 'Cause all you ever cared about is Daryl, and the _real_ Hell would be knowing that _you_ sent his soul somewhere it doesn't belong."

Merle glanced away. "You jus' got it all figured out don'tcha, blondie? Li'l Miss Nancy Drew over here. Shit, I was so sure I had it all figured out, too. Now look at me…"

He shook his head and chuckled, but he wasn't smiling and there was no hint of humor within the sound. "Ignorance really is bliss."

Then he disappeared.

* * *

"_Those who believe they lack a soul will sell it to the first bidder. And they will pay the interest at the cost of pure hearts like yours."_

That's what Lady Jadis had said. It echoed in Beth's head ominously, filling her with a sense of dread she couldn't seem to shake off. It made so much damn sense now, she kept asking herself how she hadn't figured it out before.

She kept asking herself how she could've underestimated Merle so disastrously. How she hadn't realized just how serious the situation was - just how much was at stake.

Sure, Morgan said she had a choice. He said she _always_ had a choice. She could walk away. If she really wanted to. She had a Gift but that didn't mean she had to use it. It wasn't _her _soul that was in perilous danger, after all.

But Daryl needed help. He needed _her _help. She couldn't turn her back on him. She'd given Merle her word. And not that it mattered so much with Merle, but in a way, it felt like she'd given Daryl her word as well. He might be stubborn and he might be awfully rough around the edges, but she could tell that he was _good_. He was a good man with good intentions and he didn't deserve to go to Hell just because he'd gotten stuck with a selfish asshole for a brother.

Not to mention, Morgan had seen her helping him in his visions. And Rick helping them. She and Daryl's souls were intertwined - not in the most ideal of ways, but they were certainly intertwined all the same. So in a way, it was kinda meant to be… Right?

If she had to tell herself that, then she would. But she wasn't about to back out now that she knew exactly what was at stake. She couldn't care less where Merle's soul ended up, but she could never live with herself knowing she'd had the chance to keep someone like Daryl out of Hell and had done nothing.

Would it be her own pure heart that ended up paying the price, like Jadis had foreshadowed? Was she willing to take that risk?

Yes, she decided. Yes, she was. A great risk meant a great reward.

Not that she was in this for anything of her own. Never having to hear Merle's voice again would be reward enough. Prying Daryl's soul from Papa Legba's merciless grasp would simply be a bonus.

* * *

"Your ignorance has already been proven to be your greatest weakness, Merle," Morgan said. "That, and your pride. But if you'd paid any attention, listened to anyone with beliefs beyond your own, you would've _known_ that Papa Legba is not to be trusted, nor is he someone to be bargained with. He is revered across the world for his merciless wagers, his name is spoken only upon death beds, whispered out in final breaths. He has a macabre sense of humor and he thrives on loopholes. And his deals come at a great price, most often too great for the likes of you to pay. He rarely asks for a simple payment and he _never_ makes a deal that he knows he won't win. Not a single soul has been able to outwit him in all these centuries."

"How the fuck you gonna expect some white trailer trash like me ta know about a Voodoo demon?" Merle argued, scoffing. "I didn't even have cable fer most a my life. Never left Georgia 'less it was ta make money. I don't fuckin' keep up on all that Negro lore - never needed to."

"That dumbass was always makin' deals with loan sharks, I'ono why I'm even surprised," Daryl grumbled.

Merle was pacing in front of the fireplace, arms crossed over his chest as he continuously shook his head and mumbled under his breath. Beth, Morgan, and Daryl were sitting in their seats around the circular table, cradling warm bowls of soup in their laps and eating.

The reheated soup Morgan had served was something strange that Beth had never tasted or seen before, but it was delicious. Daryl was scarfing his down like he hadn't eaten in days while she brought tentative spoonfuls up to her lips. Her stomach was still largely unsettled, twisting and churning as everything they'd learned soaked deeper into her mind. She was struggling to make sense of it all, to accept that it was real. But she had no choice. It was very real. And she couldn't exactly track down murderers and fulfill demon deals without food, so she forced herself to eat. She didn't want to end up barfing over the side of the porch like Daryl either.

"There's no point in gettin' stuck on all the what-if's now," she interjected, keeping her eyes on her bowl of soup. "We just have to move forward an' figure out how to fix this whole mess. Papa Legba said he wants another soul, but he also said it doesn't _have_ ta be Daryl's. So…"

"So what?" Daryl asked.

She flicked her gaze up to meet his and found Morgan staring across the table at her as well, eyebrows raised with intrigue.

"So we can fill the spot with another soul." He took the words right out of her mouth.

She quickly nodded in agreement.

"Like whose?" Daryl asked, eyes narrowing and glancing back and forth between Morgan and Beth.

"Whoever fuckin' _killed_ me, how 'bout that?" Merle chimed in, his tone heavily laced with spite.

"Yeah, actually," Beth said, shooting Merle a pointed look. "Who better? Obviously they deserve ta be in Hell, whoever they are."

"Huh?" Daryl looked confused.

"Whoever may have murdered Merle," Morgan clarified. "Maybe their soul can be used as compensation to Papa Legba."

"So we're just accepting it as fact now?" Daryl asked, frowning. "Y'all are _convinced_ he was murdered?"

"No shit! It's fact - you _saw_ it, right?!" Merle cried, gesturing to Morgan expectantly.

Morgan shrugged. "I didn't see the actual murder, no. But it's a large possibility. I don't think Rick Grimes would be involved if there weren't something more to be investigated. Either way, it's not a possibility that either of you can afford to dismiss."

_Either of you, _the words rang in Beth's ears.

She and Daryl were a team now. Their fates were intertwined. She could hear it in the finality of Morgan's tone. She could feel it in her bones. Whatever happened to Daryl would fall back on her. She'd already signed up for it. There was no stepping back anymore. They'd come too far, learned too much. He knew all of her darkest secrets and she was pretty sure she knew most of his. They were connected in a way that she couldn't have expected, let alone prepared for. But how far would she have to go to help him?

How far was she _willing_ to go?

_I've already been stepping over to the Other Side for most of my life,_ she thought to herself. _What's a few more trips?_

"Y'ain't got no more you can show us in that magic crystal ball of yours?" Daryl asked half-mockingly, pointing to the crystal ball that sat atop the center of the table.

Morgan shrugged, swallowing a spoonful of soup before replying, "Maybe. It's worth a shot - if yer gonna be willing ta listen to whatever I tell you, that is."

Beth interjected before Daryl could quip back with something sarcastic. "Of course we'll listen," she said. "Can you see _more_ in that thing? Like… stuff that could help us? The future or somethin'?"

Morgan smirked and gazed down at the bowl in his lap, lifting another spoonful to his lips leisurely and swallowing before he replied, "There is one thing that Papa Legba and I have in common."

"Yer both black demons?" Merle quipped, chortling at his own poor joke.

Morgan ignored him and finished, "Loopholes."

"Loopholes?" Daryl repeated, staring across the table with an empty bowl in his lap.

Morgan nodded. "Papa Legba has his ways - one of them being that he doesn't disclose the stipulations of his deals before solidifying them. And well, I have something that challenges that. He doesn't like it much, but I can't say I've ever cared. My Gifts offer me a sight beyond Lucifer's own power from time to time. It's not perfect, but it's better than going in blind."

"So what can you see?" Beth asked, her spoon pinched numbly between her fingers.

Morgan shrugged, pausing and bringing his bowl up to his lips to drain the last of the soup. Then he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and replied, "Whatever I'm allowed to see. It'll be up to you to make sense of it."

She glanced over to Daryl and found him already looking at her, an expression of uncertainty shadowing his features. The color had returned to his face but just barely. He seemed to grow paler and paler at every new piece of information Morgan presented. She raised her eyebrows, silently communicating with the living Dixon.

_You think we should? _He asked her wordlessly. And she nodded, pressing her lips together tightly.

_I think we have to,_ she told him with a look.

He jerked his chin in a gesture of understanding and turned his attention back to Morgan. "Guess you can jus' call us the goddamn Scooby-Doo Gang with all these fuckin' mysteries. What else d'you got for us, Mr. Swamp Witch?"

* * *

Beth and Daryl sat across the circular table from Morgan with bellies full of warm soup and expectant looks on their faces. Merle was keeping his mouth shut for once, though rightfully so, as he leaned against the wall behind Morgan and watched.

The crystal ball glowed atop the center of the table, but not from the early evening sun that leaked in through the water-stained windows. It seemed to emanate its own light and warmth, growing brighter whenever Morgan's open hands got closer. He spread his fingers and kept his palms hovered around the thick glass, and Beth couldn't help but think of all those stupid movies that depicted phony psychics gazing dramatically into their crystal balls in the same manner.

Except now, she wasn't amused by the image. She knew that Morgan was for real, and that the glass he gazed down into was showing him more than she could ever comprehend. It had already shown her more than she'd wanted to see. She didn't want to think about everything _he_ could be seeing - she just wanted to know the important details so she could start figuring out how to save Daryl's soul from being cast into Hell for eternity.

Morgan was frowning, and the longer he gazed into the crystal ball, the deeper his frown grew. Beth and Daryl sat in tense silence, waiting patiently. They exchanged a glance every few seconds, assuring one another that they were both anxious and unsettled. It seemed to relax her just the slightest to know he was beside her.

And he'd scooted his chair closer, until their thighs were touching. Though she wasn't really paying attention to that.

"Everything is blurry," Morgan finally said, voice tinged with disappointment. "I can't make out a damn thing." He sighed in defeat.

"Is there something I can do ta help?" Beth volunteered, eager to move this whole thing along. "Or somethin' _he _can do?" She glanced pointedly at Merle, who shot her a scowl.

Morgan shook his head. "Unfortunately, Merle has helped us about as much as he _can_ help us. I don't…"

But his voice trailed off and his eyes widened, still locked on the crystal ball before him. He leaned in closer, unblinking as though he'd just seen a shooting star or a really intriguing advertisement. Then a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth and he nodded, flicking his brown eyes up to meet Beth's.

"I see somethin' - blurry, but I recognize it." He pointed to the cross hanging around her neck. "Your necklace. I know you never take it off, but can I ask you to let me borrow it? Just for a moment?"

Beth leaned forward in her chair and, without hesitation, reached up and unclasped her necklace. She carefully handed it across the table while Daryl watched with narrowed eyes. Morgan took it from her, cradling the cross and chain in his open palms. Then he laid it across the top of the globe-shaped glass.

The crystal ball glowed brighter. The light began pulsating to the rhythm of an unseen heartbeat. Beth's breath caught in her throat and she could see Daryl's jaw dropping from the corner of her eye.

Morgan's tentative smile turned into a grin and his eyes widened once more as he leaned in closer, gazing into the crystalline glass with wonder and intrigue. A few seconds later, he _cluck_ed his tongue.

And a few seconds after that, he was raising his head and staring over the top of the glowing crystal ball at Beth with glassy eyes.

"Wee Beth, the child born twice," he muttered, his tone vastly different than before. Lighter, almost wistful. And higher pitched, as though he were imitating a woman. "You've grown just as beautiful as I saw. Aye, and just as powerful. Now listen, child: your blood holds secrets, and someone close to you has the answers to your oldest and most difficult questions. Look into your heart and into your home, lass. There is a bond beyond worlds residing within you and another you love."

A chill ran through Beth's spine, goosebumps forming up and down her arms and legs. Her stomach twisted painfully and she opened her mouth to say something - _anything_. But nothing came out.

Then Morgan blinked and shook his head and when he looked at her again, his eyes were no longer glassy. He gave her a confused half-smile and glanced down at the crystal ball, blinking a few more times as though to clear his vision.

"What does _that_ mean?" She finally asked, her voice weak and breathy.

"I don't know," Morgan replied simply, refusing to meet her gaze and focusing his vision on the crystal ball. "Someone spoke through me and I really hate when that happens because it's _very_ violating, but… if what they said sounded familiar or important, then that means you should heed the advice."

Beth swallowed hard and glanced over at Daryl and Merle, both of whom were staring at Morgan with equally perplexed looks on their faces. Daryl appeared a bit more disturbed, though. Which is how Beth felt, although she wasn't sure she could properly express it just yet. She was still trying to process what she'd just heard. And what the hell it could mean.

But before her mind could begin racing with possibilities, Morgan was smiling again. The crystal ball seemed to be showing him something he'd been looking for.

"Yes," he muttered. "Here we go… They're short glimpses, but they're clear." His smile faded and his brows slowly knit together as he watched.

Daryl cleared his throat and Beth looked over at him. He met her eyes and silently asked, _You sure?_

She nodded.

It was no longer a question of, _can we actually believe this guy_. Now it was just a question of, _are we sure we can handle what he might be about to tell us? _And though Beth wasn't sure she could handle it, she knew she'd have to.

She was plenty confident in herself, but having Daryl's help made her feel a lot more confident. Maybe he wasn't the worst person to be stuck with in this after all.

**to be continued...**


	20. The Future is a Bad Vine Compilation

**The Future is a Bad Vine Compilation**

"You're both approaching the place where Merle's soul left his body - the cabin. You're both at the cabin. Merle is with y'all, of course. You're walking up the steps, goin' inside…"

Morgan was muttering quietly, explaining what he saw as it played before him in the glass of the crystal ball. His eyes were wider than Beth had ever seen, his gaze locked on the glass ball. His hands hovered around it, fingers spread but completely still. She was on the edge of her seat, breathing as softly and silently as she could manage, listening intently to every word that came out of Morgan's mouth. She wished she could see what he was seeing, trying to picture it in her head so she could store it away somewhere important.

But who was she kidding? There was no way she'd forget _anything_ he'd told her today. Especially when it was brief glimpses of her future.

Despite her nerves and the ball of anxiety that had formed in her stomach, Daryl's presence was like a comforting weight at her side. He leaned in too, elbows rested on the table next to hers. His jaw was clenched and his shoulders were tense as he listened.

Morgan let out a sigh and said, "An' now I see you two leaving the cabin - and Beth is stronger. Her aura is glowing bright, her Gift has grown more powerful. It looks like you two know where you're going. You're climbing onto a bike and riding away together." He sighed again and shook his head, squinting down at the glass. "Merle is happy. But fearful."

Merle scoffed from where he stood behind Morgan and grumbled something under his breath, but they ignored it. Morgan let out another sigh and Beth realized that he was sighing every time the scene before him changed. His glimpses were lasting no more than five or ten seconds each.

"It's - it's All Hallow's Eve," he went on. "There are people in costumes with red cups in their hands, a big black SUV with dark tinted windows - "

"All Hallow's Eve?" Daryl interrupted.

"Halloween," Beth clarified without a glance in his direction, still staring at Morgan and hanging on his every word.

"Yes, Halloween," Morgan said, his stare remaining steady on the glass. He squinted and frowned. "There's… the man. I recognize the back of his head, the limp in his left leg."

Beth's heart skipped and she gasped aloud. Morgan shut his eyes for a long second and took in a deep breath. When he opened them, he met Beth's gaze over the top of the crystal ball. The expression on his face made her breath hitch in her chest.

"There's gonna be a party," he said flatly.

"A Halloween party?" Daryl guessed.

Morgan nodded, though his gaze remained locked onto Beth's. His eyes seemed to darken as he spoke his next words:

"You cannot go to this party, Beth Greene… But you _must_."

She furrowed her brow and struggled to take in a breath. Her voice came out small and fearful. "What d'you mean?"

"That doesn't make sense," Daryl backed her up.

Morgan's eyebrows rose and he kept staring intently at Beth. "You must attend this party." He glanced at Daryl and added, "_Both_ of you. It will be risky. It could turn out badly for everyone involved. But your attendance to this party will be vital to fulfilling Papa Legba's deal."

Merle laughed. "A _party_? What're you gonna tell 'em next, that they gotta start snortin' coke? Great advice, Swamp Witch. Can ya tell 'em ta visit a strip club too, while yer at it? Been a while since I saw a nice pair of tits."

Morgan turned to Merle briefly. "Someone at that party is going to be the key to fixing _your_ mistake. So maybe you should keep your mind open."

Merle's lips snapped shut and his smile instantly disappeared. He went back to appearing uncomfortable and tense as he stood against the wall.

"Not that I'm _doubtin'_ you or anything," Daryl interjected, eyes narrowed. "But how d'you expect us ta go to a party in the middle of tryin' ta hunt down a _murderer_? Why can't we jus' find this person somewhere else?"

Morgan folded his hands atop the table and looked back at Daryl with a plain face. He shrugged. "I wasn't allowed to see that far. I'm telling you everything I know."

Beth was worrying her lower lip and trying to process the new information in her head. But she spoke up now, full of uncertainty. "Well, that might be a problem 'cause I don't _go_ to parties. Like, I don't get invited. I don't know anybody that's throwin' any - unless it's my sister. Was it Maggie? Did you see?"

Morgan shook his head. "It was not your sister's party. I didn't see who it was, but I know that the path will lead you there. Don't turn down any invitations."

Beth frowned but nodded in understanding. "Was Rick there?" She asked.

"I didn't see him, but that doesn't mean anything," Morgan replied. "Like I said, I'm only getting brief glimpses."

"Alright, well," Daryl interjected. "The cabin, an SUV with tinted windows, a Halloween party, the guy with the limp… What else ya got?"

Morgan smirked at that and resumed his previous position in front of the crystal ball, leaning forward to gaze into the glass with his open hands hovered around it. The glowing intensified, pulsing like a heartbeat once more, as though it were responding to his silent commands. Beth's necklace remained atop the ball and she tried to ignore how naked her neck felt without it.

A few seconds later, Morgan was muttering again.

"There he is - your friend, Rick. He looks concerned. Oh…" Morgan's voice trailed off and then he was sighing. "And now he looks determined. I see stacks of papers - dusty old files. A computer. A blonde woman shedding light upon the correct path. Ah - and along the way, this Rick fellow will meet his future wife. How sweet."

Beth and Daryl exchanged a perplexed look before turning back to Morgan.

"_Future wife_?" Beth repeated.

Morgan shrugged and glanced over at her indifferently. "That's what I saw. Didn't get an actual look at her, but it felt like love at first sight. And from what I've been shown, they won't meet for a very long time if not for your intervention."

Beth blinked, stunned and speechless. It was one thing to know that Daryl's entire soul rested in her hands, but to know that Rick Grimes' future - or anyone else's - was also depending on her choices? How was she supposed to handle that? How would she ever be able to make the _right_ choices?

"Don't be surprised when your path merges with the paths of others," Morgan explained calmly, reading the expression on her face. "_Everything_ on this plane is connected."

"What, like the Butterfly Effect or summ'n?" Daryl asked.

Morgan smiled and gave Daryl a look of pleasant surprise. "Yes, Daryl. Exactly like the Butterfly Effect. Everything you do in your life will affect the lives of others, just as it always has."

"So no pressure or anything," Beth muttered, wringing her hands together nervously in her lap.

"Don't be disparaged," Morgan assured. "Now is not the time to lose heart, Beth. You're getting far more help than you would've normally gotten. Let's try to look at the _bright side_ of things."

"Okay - but who was the blonde woman?" She asked, trying not to think about how heavy the weight on her shoulders was becoming. "Are you sure you weren't jus' seeing me again?"

Morgan chuckled, shaking his head. "It wasn't you. I didn't see anything more than her blonde hair and the dim light she will be offering, but judging from her aura, she's closer to my age. She holds an important key to unlocking the puzzle surrounding Merle's death."

Beth swallowed hard and mulled over this new information, wracking her brain for every blonde woman she'd ever known. But there was no way that anyone she knew would have anything to do with Merle or his death, so who could it be? Would she have to go around intruding on new people's lives throughout this whole journey, just like she'd had to do with Daryl?

"Ain't no blonde broad ever helped _me_ none," Merle grumbled. Beth clenched her jaw and ignored him.

She felt Daryl's eyes on her and knew he could sense her deep uncertainty. He cleared his throat and asked Morgan, "Well, what else can you tell us?"

Morgan gazed down into the crystal ball once more but frowned. He shook his head. "It's gone blurry again. I've already been allowed to see more than I should have."

Beth opened her mouth, prepared to offer more help in any way possible. But then Morgan's lips snapped shut and his eyes widened in surprise. The crystal ball pulsated with a bright glow, drawing him in closer.

He smiled eagerly and lifted his gaze to look at Daryl.

"The photo in your wallet - may I borrow it for a moment?" He asked.

Daryl appeared taken aback at the request, sitting up straight and glaring at Morgan with a stunned expression on his face. He blinked and froze for a moment, but then he wordlessly pulled his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans and opened it.

Beth watched as he slipped out a folded piece of plastic and handed it across the table. She quickly realized it was the photo he'd pulled out of the statue the night before. Morgan took it with careful fingers, treating the photo like it were made of glass. He unfolded it and glanced at it, smiling when he saw the image. Then he placed it gently atop the crystal ball, balanced over Beth's necklace.

It was like the crystal ball was absorbing energy from the objects laid upon it - the glass immediately began to glow brighter, pulsating faster and faster. Morgan stared with wide eyes, though he didn't lean back or away. In fact, he leaned in closer. Even when the light changed from a warm yellow to a deep, blood red.

Suddenly, the inside of the cabin was bathed in a red glow. The crystal ball shone brighter and brighter, pulsing with crimson light. Beth and Daryl's eyes had gone just as wide as Morgan's and they reflexively leaned back from the table, confused and a little scared. Merle's jaw had dropped open behind Morgan and he watched with astonishment, trying to figure out what the hell was happening.

As Morgan watched whatever was playing in the glass before him, his smile faltered and faded into a frown. The lines in his forehead grew deeper with every second until he appeared nothing less than distressed. He pressed his lips tightly together, nodding here and there as he comprehended the glimpses he was being shown.

Beth looked over, hoping to silently communicate with Daryl, but his attention was completely fixed on Morgan and the red glow emanating from the crystal ball. Without hesitation, she reached over and grasped his hand. It had been balled into a fist rested on his leg, but as soon as she covered it with her own, it unclenched. He shot her a glance of uncertainty while turning his palm over and pressing it against hers, calloused fingers wrapping around her hand. She gave a reassuring squeeze and his shoulders seemed to relax just the slightest.

_We're in this together, _she wanted to say. _Wherever it might take us. We'll figure it out._

Though she wasn't sure if she was trying to assure Daryl or herself at this point.

He nodded as though he knew what she was thinking and looked back to Morgan and the crystal ball. She chewed on her lower lip and tried not to squeeze Daryl's hand too tightly when Morgan let out a _hmph_ of disappointment - or puzzlement. She couldn't tell exactly what the sound meant.

Just as suddenly as it had begun, the red glow disappeared. As did any light that was emanating from the crystal ball. It couldn't have lasted more than twenty seconds at the most, but a red tint remained over Beth's vision. She blinked it away and stared across the table at Morgan, watching with baited breath as his eyes finally flicked up. He was still frowning, his brow creased heavily. He looked at Daryl.

"_Money_," Morgan whispered, his voice coming out hoarse and half-choked. "Money, money, money. Greed. Anger. Vengeance… And murder. So much death. So much _pain_."

"Yeah, that's the Dixon story alrigh'," Merle chimed in. "Gonna have ta be a li'l more specific there, buddy."

But Daryl was clearly taking it much more seriously. His hand gripped Beth's and he hesitantly asked, "That's what you saw? About… me?"

Morgan pressed his lips into a thin line and nodded, blinking slowly. He folded his hands atop the table in front of him, finished with the crystal ball and focusing his attention completely on Daryl and Beth. He didn't acknowledge any of the sounds or mumbled remarks from Merle, who was posted up against the wall behind him.

"All that and more," Morgan said plainly. "Your relationship with Merle changed drastically in the months leading up to your father's death. Were you angry because your big brother saw you as a victim? Or because you knew he would never be strong enough to bear the weight of forgiveness?"

Daryl furrowed his brow and his hand went stiff in Beth's. She could see his adam's apple bobbing up and down as he swallowed hard.

Then he growled, "I jus' knew I'd never hear the fuckin' end of it. What's that gotta do with anythin'?"

Merle leapt forward, leaning across the table and jabbing an accusatory finger at Daryl. "You dumb _fuck_ \- I wanted ta kill that asshole all my life but I never had a good enough reason to! I couldn't prove he set the fire but I fuckin' _knew_ it." He spoke as though Daryl could hear him, the pent-up fury evident in his tone as it burst from his mouth. "I could forgive all the whoopin's he gave me 'fore I moved out, but findin' out that he beat _you_ when I wasn't lookin'? That was the last _fucking_ straw. You _knew_ I'd fuckin' kill him. That's why you got so goddamn upset - that's why you tried ta _defend_ that piece a shit. Those beatin's didn't do shit fer you 'cause ya still turned out a yellow-bellied, goddamn _pussy_!"

Beth stiffened. For once, she was grateful that Daryl couldn't hear the things his dead brother was saying. Though Morgan appeared unaffected, not even bothering with a glance towards Merle.

His frown deepened, his brown eyes remaining set on Daryl as he calmly interpreted Merle's message. "When Merle saw the scars on your back, it changed everything. There's no denying that. And when you heard about your father's death, you _knew_ \- deep down - that Merle was the culprit… Didn't you?"

Daryl narrowed his eyes and grunted. "Nah. I was jus' fed up with his shit. He wouldn't stop pushin' me an' pushin' me - I finally had enough. That fight was the last straw. The bullshit 'bout my scars didn't mean nothin', it was just somethin' else ta fight about. Merle was always findin' reasons ta get pissed an' make it all about him."

"Oh, fuck off!" Merle snapped, waving a hand dismissively and turning away for a moment to shake his head in disgust.

"He mighta been an asshole, but I never _really_ thought he'd kill anybody," Daryl went on. "Not even our old man. Fer any reason."

"Yeah," Merle quipped. "You always did underestimate me, baby brother."

"So be it," Morgan said, indifferent. "But you undeniably had your doubts about the fire that took your mother's life. And Merle never wanted to hear any of it. Such strife was bound to put another wedge in your already strained relationship."

Daryl shrugged. "I guess," he mumbled, his face shadowed with doubt.

"Because he knew the truth just as well as you did," Morgan said simply. "Yet it took seeing the scars on your back to finally convince him. There was no longer any question of _if_, only _how_. And after that… the only question remaining was _when_ Merle would avenge his mother's death and his baby brother's suffering."

Daryl narrowed his eyes, scowling. "You tryin' ta tell me that I shoulda _known_ my brother would commit patricide?"

Morgan shook his head. "Not at all."

Beth could feel Daryl's hand gripping her own harder and harder. She knew it was reflexive and gave his hand a squeeze, reminding him to remain present. His grip softened but his shoulders stayed tense. He was about to chew a hole through his bottom lip.

She spoke up, "So what's all that have to do with Merle being dead? The money? What else were you able to see?"

Morgan cleared his throat and glanced away, pausing to grab the photo and necklace off the top of his crystal ball and hand them back to Daryl and Beth before he responded. They finally pulled their hands apart. Beth quickly clasped her necklace back on, letting out a small sigh of relief as soon as she felt the familiar weight of the cross hanging against her chest. Daryl shoved the photo back into his wallet and immediately began chewing on his thumbnail nervously.

"Once again, I was only allowed brief glimpses," Morgan explained, eyes flicking back and forth between Beth and Daryl. "But I have no doubt that there is some kind of money involved in Merle's murder. Perhaps it was the killer's motivation."

Merle's voice cracked. "Shit."

Beth looked over at him to see his face had gone pale. She recognized the expression he was wearing, despite the fact he was quickly trying to cover it up once he realized she'd heard him.

"Sound familiar?" She asked bitterly. "What are you leavin' out _this_ time?"

Morgan turned in his chair to look back at Merle expectantly. "Care to share with the rest of the class?"

Merle scowled and shoved his hands into his pockets, struggling to feign a confident smirk. A shadow of dread clouded his icy blue eyes. "Money or no money, I always had a feelin' that piece of shit had help."

Beth stared at him quizzically, waiting for him to go on. When he didn't, she spat, "_And_? What piece of shit, specifically?"

"His father," Morgan cut in, as though it were obvious.

Merle's wary gaze flicked over to Morgan and he scowled again. "The hell you askin' me for if you already know?"

"Oh, I don't," Morgan assured. "But I _do_ know how to use context clues. From what I saw and from the expression on yer face right now… Well, I'd say you're pretty damn scared, Merle. _Terrified_ even."

"The fuck I am."

"Tell us: what's got you so frightened?"

Daryl interjected, "Are y'all talkin' to him right now? Is he even sayin' anything worth hearing?"

"Yes," Beth quickly answered, shooting him a look of reassurance. He nodded back with pursed lips and the frustration was evident on his face. He was getting impatient. Beth could relate - though Daryl had no idea how much more difficult Merle was making it all out to be.

"What is it, Merle?" Morgan urged.

Merle slashed an arm through the air and stepped away, turning his back to them and grumbling under his breath. Beth was about to snap at him again but then he turned around and glared at them.

"Look, I got no fuckin' clue who the asshole was that killed me. If I did, I wouldn't be wastin' my time comin' out to the fuckin' swamps with some bimbo," he said, voice rising with agitation. "But it can't be no goddamn coincidence that me an' my old man died less'an a year apart. I didn't know about the money till afterwards - that ain't no lie, I'd swear it on my mama's grave. Never thought anybody else knew either. But if that's why I got fuckin' _hanged_… Well, ya know what _that_ means."

He looked to Morgan, eyes narrowed. Then he growled out, "_Don'tcha_, Swamp Witch?"

Beth blinked and quickly glanced to Morgan, who was slowly turning in his chair to face her and Daryl once more. His brown eyes flicked up and met hers. They were filled with trepidation.

The pieces clicked together in her head and her heart dropped. Her voice was weak and breathy as she tried to speak. "You don't mean…"

Morgan nodded solemnly. He looked at Daryl and raised his eyebrows. Daryl leaned in closer.

"What?" He asked. "What is it? What'd he tell ya?"

"Not only is your soul in danger," Morgan replied. "But your life may be, as well. Whoever killed Merle will most likely be coming after _you_ next."

Daryl didn't react for several long and tense seconds. Beth was holding her breath, watching him and waiting for the inevitable outburst of rage. She wanted to reach out and grasp his hand again but she was too tentative. What if it only made him angrier?

He didn't get angry at all, though. When Morgan's words finally sank in, Daryl merely grunted and sat back in his chair.

For a moment, Beth wondered if he'd actually comprehended the statement. Then he shook his head, frowning.

"Well shit," he sighed. "Guess I shoulda seen that one comin'."

**to be continued...**

* * *

**A/N: **Sorry for the wait on this chapter but we are now back to our regularly scheduled fic updates. And I just want to say thank you to _everyone_ who continues to read every new chapter ;) Your reviews never fail to make me smile and laugh. Your support means the world to me!  
Don't forget that the 2019 Moonshine Award nominations are now open! Check out the ultimatebethylficlist website or tumblr for details :D


	21. Thanks! I Hate It

**Thanks! I Hate It**

Daryl appeared more annoyed than anything, like he'd just been told that the transmission on his favorite car had gone out. But Beth reckoned that once you knew your soul was in mortal peril, finding out your life might be in danger was no more than an inconvenience.

"So what does the money mean?" Beth asked, her quizzical gaze shooting over to Merle. "What money did you not know about?"

"What - what's he sayin'?" Daryl chimed in, looking back and forth between Beth and Morgan expectantly.

Morgan shrugged. "Nothing yet. We're trying to find out. The money was abstract in my visions - I couldn't explain it even if I wanted to."

Merle shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest defiantly. "Ain't no matter. There ain't no money, don't worry about it - whatever money there was is all gone, can't be paid back. Whatcha need ta worry about is the guy that fucking _killed_ me an' might be comin' after Daryl next."

Beth clenched her jaw and struggled to bite back an angry retort. She turned to Morgan, silently begging him to explain.

He just sighed. "I hate to add stipulations and make myself sound like some kind of… _riddler_," Morgan said, meeting Beth's expectant gaze. "But the visions I was allowed to see weren't necessarily shown in order. It's possible that some of them could even be meaningless."

Beth blinked, a bit taken aback. How was she supposed to pick out the important parts? Or piece the timeline together like some kind of jigsaw puzzle? How was she - _and_ Daryl - supposed to know which trails to follow and which to abandon? But she didn't allow her doubt to show. She was already eternally grateful to Morgan for everything he'd done and all that he'd explained. It would've been rude to expect more.

Daryl, on the other hand, didn't seem quite so appreciative. He scoffed.

Morgan shot him a scolding look and explained, "You _both_ must keep that in mind. I'm doing this to help you, but the help only goes so far. It's hard to understand, but that's just one of those loopholes I was tellin' you about: if I were given a comprehensive, step-by-step plan of the future, we would all know too much. The timeline would be skewed, the events wouldn't play out as they're meant to because you would be acting with too much foresight."

Merle rolled his eyes from behind Morgan and grumbled, "Go figure."

A split-second later, Daryl huffed out a frustrated breath and muttered, "Go figure."

But Beth ignored them both and nodded in understanding, eyes locked on Morgan. "That makes sense. You've already given us way more than we would've ever had to go off of if we hadn't come out here. I don't know how I can ever thank you."

She shot Daryl a pointed look and he scowled back before sitting up straight and giving Morgan a terse nod. "Yeah - thanks," he grunted, less than enthusiastic.

Morgan put a hand up and shook his head. "No need. I don't extend my hand with the intention of receiving anything in return. All I can do is reach out to those in need and hope that my little bit of help is able to put a few more souls where they belong."

"I'll put ya where _you_ fuckin' belong, goddamn Voodoo bastard," Merle remarked.

"You're welcome, Merle," Morgan shot back sarcastically.

Merle scoffed. "Fer _what_? You didn't solve shit fer us, jus' gave us some bullshit puzzle ta solve like some kinda second-rate Batman villain. Ain't no better'an those crock fuckin' psychics."

"That's not true," Beth argued. "He gave us a guideline - we know what to expect now, we know where to start and who to look out for."

"Well it jus' sounds like more unnecessary work to me," Merle spat. "He saw all that, he shoulda been able ta jus' save us the fuckin' hassle an' tell us how to fix this. Y'all got all these _Gifts_, but not one of 'em lets ya detour through the bullshit."

"It doesn't _work_ like that." Beth rolled her eyes and glared over Morgan's shoulder at Merle with detest. "Not like _you_ would understand. The only Gift you ever had was the gift of being the biggest pain in the ass that ever existed."

Merle barked out a humorless laugh. "Oh yeah? Like yer really one ta talk, blondie."

Beth knew it was pointless to let herself be upset by Merle but she couldn't help it. After all she'd gone through over the last two days, she'd hoped for at least a shred of decency. Even from him. But she should've known better than to have such high expectations for someone like Merle Dixon. Her frustration quickly mounted and her voice rose in anger.

"_You're_ the asshole who bargained your only brother's soul to a _demon_!" She shoved her chair back from the table and stood up without realizing it, tempted to leap across the table and strangle Merle - if only he weren't already dead. "_None_ of us would be caught up in this shitstorm right now if it weren't for _your_ stupid, selfish choices! You're the worst person I've ever met and you _deserve_ to be in Hell!"

Merle stepped forward, glaring back at Beth with the same look of fury and abhorrence that she wore. He growled through his teeth, "Better watch that pretty li'l mouth a yers, _sweetheart_. Don't forget how fuckin' _nice_ I've been ta you so far. That can change real goddamn quick if you keep _pushin'_ me."

She nearly laughed in indignation. But Morgan quickly cut in, standing from his chair and putting himself between them with his hands up, motioning for them both to calm down. He fixed his calming stare on Beth and urged her to sit back down.

"There's no use arguing with a _ghost_," he told her firmly. "This is no longer about him. You are _choosing_ to help him - and Daryl. He may be an insufferable asshole, but _you_ are the one in power here, Beth."

Merle laughed coldly and stepped back to lean against the wall once more, arms crossed over his chest. "Fer now. Till she pisses me off enough an' I give 'er precious daddy a fuckin' heart attack."

Beth glared at Merle and hissed out through clenched teeth, "You wouldn't _dare_."

Merle winked at her tauntingly. "Try me."

Her blood pressure skyrocketed.

"_Enough_!" Morgan declared, his voice deep and booming through the small cabin. Beth's eyes snapped over to his. Her anger evaporated immediately and even Merle's smug smirk disappeared.

She was about to apologize but then he was looking at her sternly and speaking. "I have something that can make this easier. I wasn't sure if I should give you the option, but now I see… it's only right. For the sake of your family - and your sanity."

"And _mine_," Daryl growled from his seat.

Beth awkwardly lowered herself back down into the chair and looked over at Daryl apologetically. He shrugged.

"I know how my brother can be, but I can't help if I can't _hear_ the stupid shit he's sayin'," he explained, azure eyes flicking across the table to settle on Morgan.

Beth felt a blush rising from her neck up to her cheeks and quickly turned away, focusing on Morgan as well. She knew she looked crazy to Daryl, but that didn't mean she liked it. Sometimes it was just too damn hard to ignore the crap that spewed from Merle's mouth.

She needed to work on that. Although she wasn't sure how much more her blood pressure could tolerate. She'd always been a very patient person, yet she'd already been pushed to the end of her rope by this guy. And he wasn't even alive.

Morgan simply nodded and waved off their words, turning and walking over to a tall bookcase that sat in the corner. There were various odd objects lining the shelves, too jumbled together for Beth to discern what they were from where she sat. She watched with bated breath as Morgan scanned the shelves thoughtfully before he carefully pulled something out from the bottom-most shelf. He brushed off a layer of dust and gazed down at it for a moment, then returned to the table and plopped it down on the table before her.

She and Daryl stared down at the object, puzzled. It was a small statue, no larger than her palm. It appeared to be hand-carved from the darkest wood she'd ever seen. The head was shaped like a snarling black dog while the body resembled a human man, muscular and toned, hands clasped together over the abdomen. There were two tiny rubies embedded within the eyes, gleaming ominously in the light.

At first, Beth thought it might've been one of those Egyptian gods or something, but the longer she studied it, the more sure she felt that it was something else entirely. It looked foreign and strange and she could've sworn it was pulsating with some kind of unique energy. She was too wary to reach out and touch it, though she wanted to.

She started, "What - "

Morgan stopped her, eager to explain: "It's a Djab Idol. A powerful artifact. With the right spell - which I'll write down for you to use at your own discretion - it can banish Merle's soul away from you. Forever."

Her jaw dropped and she looked up at him, eyes gone wide. "Banish him - _forever…_?"

He smiled and clasped his hands in front of him, nodding. "Banished. Forever."

"What - like straight to Hell?" Daryl asked, disconcerted.

"No," Morgan assured, eyes still locked on Beth. "It doesn't push him out of this plane - it's not quite that powerful. But it will break the connection between the two of you. He will no longer be able to contact you. Which means he'll never have the ability to affect your family either. Once he's banished, you won't see or hear him on this plane of existence… ever again."

"What the fuck?!" Merle cried, outraged. "Why would that even be an _option_? That ain't fuckin' fair!"

Without glancing back, Morgan replied, "_Death_ isn't fair, Merle."

That shut him up. Though the indignation was still clear on his face.

Beth swallowed hard and looked over to Daryl. He was pale again, staring blankly at the idol on the table. When he felt her gaze on him, his eyes flicked over to meet hers. But she couldn't read the expression on his face. Her stomach churned with uncertainty. The cross hanging around her neck was suddenly hot against her skin.

She looked to Morgan once more and asked, "And what would that mean for Daryl? For his soul?"

Morgan's mouth curved downward and he was obviously trying to appear indifferent. And failing. He cleared his throat and responded, "The deal with Papa Legba would still stand, with or without you. The outcome, however… would rely entirely on Merle."

"Oh!" Merle chirped up. "Well that ain't so bad. Hell, I could prob'ly work shit out ten times faster without this dingbat slowin' me down." He cackled smugly.

Beth's blood pressure was skyrocketing again. Her hands clenched into fists in her lap and she briefly wished Daryl could hear what his shithead of a brother was saying.

But Morgan interjected calmly, as though playing referee came naturally to him. She figured he was probably used to dealing with horrible souls like Merle by now, so maybe his tolerance was much higher than hers. Then again, it undoubtedly helped that he didn't have any personal stake in the matter. _He_ wasn't the one who had to walk around with Merle at his side day and night.

"You know what's at risk here," Morgan said, quietly lowering himself back into his chair across the table while keeping his intense gaze locked with Beth's. "And you know very well, by this point in your life, that with every good comes a bad. It's a balance. There will always be give and take. How much you choose to give will be completely up to you, Beth."

Beth couldn't bring herself to glance over at Daryl. She could feel his eyes set on her, waiting for a reaction.

He wasn't _saying_ it because he wasn't a self-centered asshat like his dead brother - but she knew he was thinking it. How could he not? She would be too, if she were in his position.

_Are you gonna throw my soul to the wolves? Leave it in Merle's incapable hands? Are you gonna take the easy way out and hope it works itself out somehow?_

She started weakly, "But I - "

Morgan detected the hesitation in her tone and cut her off, raising his eyebrows, "I know what you've been raised to believe. I've seen the moral code that's been instilled within you since birth. And I'm only gonna tell you this one time, Beth Greene."

Her mouth snapped shut.

"There is no list of good and bad deeds being kept by your God. There is no one-way ticket to that Eternal Paradise you've been promised," he declared. "Nor is there a one-way ticket to Hell. The Gifted are no more or less ill-fated than all the rest of humanity. It's what we choose in our everyday lives that determines who we are, not some blood inheritance that forces us to sacrifice our own selves."

She nodded stiffly, unable to do much more. His statement was like the cherry on top of a huge, sloppy sundae consisting of all the most fantastical shit she'd never really wanted to know. Yet she was beginning to accept the fact that she couldn't have stayed ignorant forever.

Morgan leaned forward just the slightest bit. Beth withered beneath his intense brown eyes, the look of absolute certainty on his face.

"That odd thing I said earlier - remember? When someone spoke through me?"

She quickly nodded. _Wee Beth, the child born twice._

"If you feel like you cannot make this decision on your own, remember the words that you heard spoken through me. Someone close to you may hold the reassurance you so desperately seek."

"O-okay," she choked out.

As if he'd flipped a switch, the ominous shadow in Morgan's eyes disappeared. He smiled and relaxed. He looked over to Daryl and smiled a little wider.

"Well then - it's gettin' late," Morgan said. "I know y'all have a long drive back and there's not much sunlight left. Not to rush you out or anything."

"Nah," Daryl agreed, standing from his chair. He'd clearly heard enough and was eager for any excuse to leave. "Yer right. We got a long drive ahead."

Morgan glanced to Beth and added, "I wouldn't want your dad to worry about where you are."

_Right, my dad. Shit… and Maggie,_ Beth thought, her mind racing. _I still have all of that to worry about on top of this. How am I gonna explain getting home so late this time?_

* * *

Morgan wrote down the banishing spell with very specific instructions on a piece of paper similar to what the map had been drawn on and gave it to Beth, along with the Djab Idol. She accepted both with shaky hands, wishing she'd brought a bigger purse so she didn't have to hold them in her hands. Something about them felt odd, almost ominous. Like the weight of her decision rested within the pair. And the doghead idol seemed to grow hot in her palm.

She and Daryl shook Morgan's hand and thanked him for his hospitality while Merle sneered across the room, dragging his feet. He complained about leaving like a toddler in need of a nap, anxious to flee the swamp entirely and to start hunting down his suspected killer.

Though he seemed to have a second thought once Daryl was opening the back door and stepping out onto the porch.

The sound of Merle's voice made Beth pause and look back as he asked Morgan, "Hey - one last question, Swamp Witch."

Morgan rolled his eyes. "Yeah?"

"That Halloween party," Merle smirked mischievously, waving a hand to lazily gesture towards Beth and Daryl. "'S that gonna be the night that these two finally hook up? I'm tryin'a help my brother get some pussy outta all this."

Beth stood by aghast, but Morgan laughed. He shook his head, still grinning.

"Lord, no," he chuckled. "It won't be _that_ night. Don't try to intervene, Merle - everything will work out as it should."

Merle threw his head back and guffawed, seemingly pleased with Morgan's answer. Beth made a sound of indignation before storming out the door, though Morgan didn't seem to notice. She was too flustered to be angry at the Swamp Witch, more appalled that Merle would ask such a thing. Who the hell did he think he was? Some kind of demonic matchmaker? She quickly pushed it out of her head and picked up her pace, eager to get back to the truck and thankful that Daryl had slipped outside ahead of her so he couldn't hear what Morgan had said.

Daryl was already on the porch and looking back, waiting for her to catch up and wondering why she'd hesitated.

"What was that?" He asked as she approached him. "He tell you somethin' else?"

She strode past him without stopping, shaking her head. "No. It was nothin'. Let's get outta here."

* * *

Eastman emerged from behind a thicket of trees and hanging moss as soon as Beth and Daryl reached the road. He was walking with his walking stick and smiling, apparently expecting them. He offered to escort them back to the truck and Beth felt that it would've been rude to turn him down, even though his assistance wasn't necessary. Daryl, on the other hand, clearly had different reasons for accepting the escort.

"Where's Tabitha?" He asked within seconds of their trek back to the vehicle, his eyes continuously darting over to the trees in search of any sign of the alligator.

Eastman chuckled and continued leading them forward. "I suppose she's off doin' gator things. I'm glad you like her so much - she seems to like you two as well. And I trust her judgment. She has an instinct that can't be replicated within humans. A Gift of her own, if you will. She can sniff out a corrupt soul from ten miles away."

Daryl grunted. "Doesn't surprise me."

Beth's head was too full of Morgan's words to say anything. She could barely focus on putting one foot in front of the other, the idol in her hand growing heavier and heavier. The only relief she felt came from the sight of her familiar black Ford sitting in the road ahead, Daryl's bike still resting in the bed.

Merle didn't reappear until they were back at the truck and Beth was opening the driver's side door. Daryl paused at the passenger side, reaching out to shake Eastman's hand.

"Thanks, man," he said. "Hopefully we never have ta see you again, I s'pose."

Eastman chuckled and glanced to Beth as he replied, "No worries, my friend. If either of you are ever in need, don't hesitate to return. Hopefully the next time we meet, it'll be under better circumstances."

"Don't count on it," Merle grumbled before disappearing. A second later, he reappeared in the backseat of the truck, an impatient frown on his face.

"We can only hope," Beth said. "Thanks again."

Eastman flashed her a wide smile and she opened her door, moving to step in.

She saw Daryl lowering his head and giving Eastman a brief nod, then he muttered, "Tell Tabitha I said bye." He must've thought she couldn't hear him.

She stifled a laugh as they climbed into the truck. Once their doors were shut and Eastman was walking away, back toward the swamp house, she turned to Daryl.

"You _really_ like that alligator, don't you?" She smirked.

He scoffed and pretended to busy himself with fastening his seatbelt while she put the key in and started the ignition. "Her name's Tabitha," he mumbled.

Beth laughed and shook her head, glancing into the rearview mirror to find Merle shrugging in agreement.

"He's got a point, blondie. Tabitha mighta been the only _good_ thing we got outta this whole fuckin' excursion. She's a livin' dinosaur, fer fuck's sake - how could ya _not_ like her?"

Beth rolled her eyes. She realized that not even a visit with a Swamp Witch could break Merle's spirit. Literally.

She was definitely in for a long and annoying drive home.

**to be continued...**


	22. Awkward Silences with a Stray Cat

**Awkward Silences with a Stray Cat**

The first half-hour of their drive back was surprisingly free of snarky Merle comments. Probably due to the fact that Beth and Daryl were too preoccupied with navigating the backroads of the swamp. Once they'd made it back onto a main road and Beth was confident in where she was going, the inside of the truck fell completely silent.

Her mind was racing with all the things they'd just been told and shown. She glanced over to see both Daryl and Merle gazing out their windows with near identical expressions of discomfort and contemplation. She took a small relief in the fact that they were all reeling from their experience with the Swamp Witch.

She tried to break the silence and talk to Daryl, both of her hands clutching the steering wheel tightly while her eyes remained set on the long road before them. "So that was… a lot. I didn't know what to expect from it but I didn't think - "

Daryl grunted without looking at her and she stopped talking, her mouth snapping shut awkwardly.

He was tense in his seat, eyes narrowed as he stared out the passenger side window. "I jus' wanna go home an' go to fuckin' bed."

She rolled her eyes and sighed inwardly. She figured that was his way of saying he needed time to process everything before he was ready to talk about it.

_Dixons ain't turnips,_ she reminded herself.

Merle mumbled something from the backseat but she'd already tuned him out. Without another word, she reached over and turned on the radio. Survivor's _High On You_ filled the cab of the truck and concealed the tense silence. She didn't bother changing the station. She just kept driving, piecing all the scattered clues together in her head while she tried to navigate their way back to Georgia.

But she knew that, sooner or later, she and Daryl would have no choice but to discuss everything they'd learned today. Maybe not tonight, but very soon. She had to admit… going home and going to bed sounded awfully good right now. Maybe that's what they both needed before they could attempt to tackle the perilous situation that had been revealed to them.

The Djab Idol sat in the console between their seats, resting in one of the cupholders with the hand-written spell wrapped around it. She tried not to look at it, but it kept taunting her from the corner of her eye. She pressed her foot down a little harder on the gas pedal and kept her gaze locked on the road ahead.

Just a few more hours and she'd be home.

* * *

The next hour and a half proved to be just as quiet. The radio played a string of 80s and 90s song at a low volume, occasionally interrupted by commercials. Daryl was completely silent in his seat, smoking a cigarette every fifteen minutes or so while he continued staring out the window. Merle sucked on his teeth loudly now and then, grumbling under his breath a couple of times. Beth had admittedly tuned him out. She was too lost in her own head and focused on driving to hear him. In fact, he was beginning to become something like background noise in her ears, blending in with the sounds of the radio and the wind.

The sun had only just begun its descent toward the horizon when they left Morgan's cabin. But during the drive, it quickly slipped down from the sky and disappeared to leave a clear black sky speckled with stars and a bright glowing moon. Beth drove at least 15 mph over the speed limit, but she knew they still wouldn't make it back until very late. And they'd only spent a little over two hours in the swamps of Florida.

She kept racking her brain, trying to work out a plausible lie that would explain why she'd been gone for literally the entire day. Her dad might not drill her too hard - he'd been urging her to 'go out and make some new friends' for a while now - but Maggie would be suspicious. Rick had never asked Beth to babysit for longer than eight hours, maybe ten at the most. She would need something really believable to explain the rest of the hours. But what could she say? That she'd made friends? Maggie would see right through her. And her dad would beg to meet those said "new friends."

Beth sighed inwardly and shook the thoughts from her head. A pang of hunger shot through her stomach and she was quickly reminded that she'd eaten very little all day. She grabbed the plastic bag of snacks she'd picked up from the gas station and pulled out some chips. Out of habit, she held out the bag full of goodies to Daryl - she'd even picked out some spicy beef jerky and a couple other things that she didn't like but assumed a guy like him would enjoy. But he just glanced at the bag briefly, frowned, and shook his head before turning back to stare out the window and ignore her.

She didn't take it personally. She simply set the bag between them, making it clear that he could help himself whenever he pleased, and turned the radio up a little louder. She munched on her Pringles with one hand and steered the truck with the other, eyes locked on the road.

It was no matter. She and Daryl still had three or four more hours together, stuck in the confines of the truck. And he knew for sure, just as well as she did, that they had to be a team now. They'd have no choice but to discuss what came next. He'd say _something_ eventually.

He _had_ to… Right?

* * *

An hour later, the radio station faded out until it was complete static. Beth didn't move to change it, waiting several moments to see if Daryl would take control of the radio again. He still hadn't spoken a word or even made a grunt in her general direction. When he didn't seem to notice that they were listening to static, she gave up and reached over, wordlessly tuning the radio to a station that was in range.

The first station was modern hits and she left it without really caring what was playing. It was some pop song she didn't recognize. She'd barely been listening to the music anyway, too lost in her own head as she continuously went back over everything Morgan had revealed. She risked a tentative glance over at Daryl only to find him staring out the window, his shaggy hair hiding the expression on his face as he smoked what must've been his twentieth cigarette. She frowned to herself and went back to focusing on the road, searching for signs that would tell her how many miles they had to go before the next town.

A few minutes later, a different song had come on and the lyrics began to register in her brain as they reached her ears. She thought she might've heard the song once or twice before but she couldn't name it, and she'd never actually paid attention to the words until now.

"..._My turn to ignore ya, don't say I didn't warn ya. All the good girls go to Hell, 'cause even God Herself has enemies. And once the water starts to rise, and Heaven's outta sight, She'll want the Devil on Her team_…"

Beth's hand shot out and turned the station, flicking through static before settling on the first sound that came in clear again. It was a modern country station. Though she didn't care _what_ it was, she just really didn't like the tone of the song that had been playing.

Unfortunately, Merle noticed. Always eager to catch Beth in a moment of vulnerability, he leaned forward until he was cackling into her ear. "Wha'samatter? Didn't like that song, blondie?"

The radio switched back and the song returned. Merle laughed.

She frowned and her jaw clenched and she had to remind herself to ignore him because Daryl was sitting in the passenger seat and quite frankly, she was sick of looking like a crazy person around Daryl - talking to thin air, arguing with a literal _ghost_. But Merle had been too quiet this whole time. He was beginning to grow restless, as he was so prone to do. It had been three whole hours since he last taunted and annoyed her and clearly, that was just too long for his liking.

"I think it's catchy," he drawled. And as the chorus began to echo through the cab of the truck, he sang along, "_Allllll the good girls go to Hell! 'Cause even God Herself has enemies!_"

Beth rolled her eyes but didn't turn her head to give him any attention. She could feel her face growing hot, but it was more frustration than embarrassment.

And yeah… maybe a little fear. All that talk of Heaven and Hell and Gifts and The Other Side, it was all rattling around in her head. Then a song like that had to start playing and now she was stuck on the idea of Hell and demons and souls and _what if I help Daryl but I fail anyway and it all literally goes to Hell_?

Also: how did Merle know just the way to get under her skin? She'd thought he couldn't get any worse, yet he kept proving her wrong.

"Don't forget about my new _option_," she muttered through clenched teeth, shooting Merle a sidelong glare.

His face fell and she saw his eyes flicking down to the idol sitting in the center console for the briefest second. He quickly feigned a smug smirk.

"You wouldn't," he said.

"Says who?"

He scowled. "Fuck you."

"Fuck _you_."

Daryl's head whipped around and he stared at Beth quizzically. "Huh? What'd you say?"

Beth looked over at Daryl and shook her head. "Nothin'."

He shrugged indifferently and went back to staring out the window. The radio changed to a new station entirely and Merle leaned back in his seat, muttering angrily under his breath.

* * *

They were still a solid hour away from the farm, passing through another small town, when Daryl finally spoke up.

"Pull inta one of those car washes, I'll spray the swamp mud off yer truck 'fore we take it back to yer old man," he instructed.

Beth nodded. "Good idea. I need to fill the tank up, too."

"Take this next left, there's a twenty-four hour car wash an' a gas station across the street."

She followed his directions and a few minutes later, pulled the truck into the car wash he'd been talking about. Before she could step out of the truck, he'd hopped out and put in money and started hosing off the big black Ford under the glow of outdoor fluorescent lights. Beth remained in her seat with the engine shut off, watching Daryl work since there wasn't anything she could really do to help.

"Yer bluffin', ain'tcha?"

She turned her head and looked back at Merle. His icy blue gaze was settled on her, his mouth set in an almost threatening line. She quickly turned back to stare out the windshield while Daryl sprayed mud off the grill.

"About what?" She asked innocently.

Merle scoffed. "Don't play dumb with me, princess. You ain't gonna use that new toy the Swamp Witch gave ya - ain't got the _balls_. 'S much as you hate me, there's no way you'd be able ta live with yerself knowin' you threw Daryl to the wolves."

Beth's hands clenched into fists in her lap and she forced herself not to turn around or give Merle the reaction he was so obviously looking for.

"The wolves being you an' yer best buddy, Papa Legba?" She asked coldly.

"_Hah_!" Merle barked out, though he was audibly unamused. "Not no more. You heard what that spearchucker said - whoever killed me is gonna come after Daryl next. An' you know just as well as I do that there's only so much ol' Merle can do ta stop it. Bein' fucking _dead_ an' all."

Beth ignored the way her stomach twisted, watching Daryl with blank eyes as he struggled to wash off a particularly stubborn chunk of swamp muck.

"Doesn't mean I can't banish you an' still help Daryl," she muttered.

Merle chuckled. "Good luck with that. Might stop 'im from gettin' killed, but that don't mean it'd keep his soul outta Hell. Legba was awful clear 'bout that one - 's gotta be _me_ that fixes my overgrown mistake of a baby brother. Y'all _need_ me. _Both_ of ya."

"No one needs _you_, Merle," Beth spat. "Least of all me or Daryl. Just remember that."

She'd hoped to wound his ego at least a little, but to her disappointment, he was genuinely amused and laughed loudly.

"Christ, you really do got a crush on Darylina, don'tcha?" He was quickly growing breathless with laughter. "Oh lord, an' here I was thinkin' it'd be hard ta get some prude like you into bed. I guess all ya need is an attitude and some God-awful fuckin' vest!"

Beth's face was suddenly warm and she wasn't sure why. She was about to make a remark but then Daryl was putting the hose away and preparing to climb back into the truck. So she bit back her comment and started the engine up. She wasn't about to be caught arguing about something she had no desire to explain. Merle took her silence as an admission of guilt.

"Yeah, so long as he's alive, you ain't goin' nowhere, blondie," he chuckled triumphantly from the backseat. "And neither am I."

* * *

Daryl didn't speak as they left the car wash and pulled into the gas station across the street except to say "be right back" as he hopped out and quickly began filling the tank up before Beth could unbuckle her seatbelt. She rolled down the window and tried to give him her debit card but he wouldn't take it, waving her off and grunting in disagreement. She thanked him but all the response she got was a clipped nod as he focused on fitting the gas nozzle into the Ford.

"Gee, what a _gentleman_," Merle chided sarcastically. Daryl abandoned the gas nozzle for a moment and jogged across the parking lot to enter the small gas station.

Beth ignored Merle's comment, pulling out her phone to find four missed calls from Maggie and a text asking when she would be home. She cleared the notifications and tucked her phone away.

"He must feel _awful_ guilty," Merle went on. "You showed 'im a little pity, held his hand when he was feelin' all weepy. He's like a stray cat - feed him once an' he'll keep comin' around, expectin' more. Y'aint gonna be able ta shake 'im off now, sweetheart. Hope you like 'im enough ta put up with his whiny ass. He's a needy one, I'll tell ya what."

At that, she couldn't help but huff out a humorless laugh. Though she still didn't turn to face Merle, afraid he might see how pink her cheeks had become. Daryl emerged from the gas station with a plastic bag in hand, hurrying back over to finish gassing up the truck. Beth briefly glanced at Merle in the rearview mirror to find his narrowed eyes glaring a hole through her back.

She sighed, swallowing back a slew of words that wanted to expel from her mouth. Instead, she muttered, "You're an idiot."

"An' yer a stupid bitch with a stupid crush," Merle snapped back. "What else is new?"

"I don't have a _crush_ on your brother, moron," she said. "I wanna help him because he's already proven to be a better person than _you_ could've _ever_ been."

Merle started, "And - "

"And that doesn't mean I won't banish you far the fuck away from me if you don't stop your antagonizing bullshit," she hissed. "So don't _push_ it."

Before he could respond, Daryl was opening the passenger side door and climbing back into the truck.

He extracted a can of air freshener from the bag in his hand and held it out for her to see. "Ta get rid of the cigarette smell."

She smiled. "Oh - thanks."

He shrugged, placing the can in the empty spot next to the doghead idol.

"Almost home," he declared as Beth started up the engine and he buckled his seatbelt. "Step on it, Greene."

"Aye aye, Captain," she agreed light-heartedly.

Then she cranked the radio up to drown out Merle's taunting voice and began driving.

* * *

It was nearly a quarter past one in the morning when they reached the road that led to the Greene's farmhouse. Between mouthfuls of spicy beef jerky, Daryl requested that Beth stop the truck about a half-mile away from her long driveway so that the sound of his motorcycle engine wouldn't disturb any of her sleeping family members. She agreed and pulled over to the side of the road with the farmhouse in sight. Even from down the road, she could see that all the windows were dark, nothing but the porchlight and the security lights around the garage and barns left on. And there was a new car parked in front of the garage - Glenn's Mustang, Beth knew. She'd recognize its cherry red paint job anywhere.

Daryl hauled his bike out of the bed of the truck and returned the old piece of plywood to its original spot before slamming the tailgate shut. He climbed onto the bike and turned in the direction he'd be heading, pausing for a moment before he started up the engine. Beth was standing a few feet away, trying not to look awkward as she played over all the various things she wanted to say. She'd hesitated too long while they were driving, waiting for what felt like the right moment to speak up until the moments had all passed. Though he hadn't exactly seemed anxious to talk during the last hour of their trip.

But now, they had no choice other than to discuss their next step. Because she sure as hell wasn't about to play another game of phone tag with him.

She opened her mouth, but he interjected before she could voice her first suggestion. "I'll get a hold of Rick tomorrow, let 'im know we need ta talk to him. 'S it alright if I call ya around nine?"

She nodded. "Sure. I have breakfast with my family in the mornin', but I should be done by nine. So - you think talkin' to Rick is the first step we should take?"

He shrugged. "Yeah. Don't you?"

She wasn't entirely sure. She'd thought a lot about their next plan of action during the long drive home, but she hadn't come to a decisive conclusion. Now that Daryl said it though, it made sense. Rick was law enforcement, after all. If they were going to get any real answers, he would be the best place to start. He might have access to information they wouldn't normally know. Or maybe he'd hear them out and feel compelled to help track down a suspected murderer. Either way, they'd been told that Rick Grimes played an inevitable role in the outcome of everything, so why not start with him?

Beth mulled it over for no more than a few seconds before nodding in agreement. "Yeah. I should probably talk to him anyway - just in case my dad happens to ask him about all the _babysitting_ I've been doin'."

To her surprise, Daryl smirked. "Right. That, too…" He paused and cleared his throat, his frown quickly returning. "Uh - maybe we should keep all this between us fer now."

Beth quirked a brow. "_All this_? Like the dead brother's ghost an' the Swamp Witch an' that whole… thing?"

He gave a clipped nod. "Yeah. Jus' - might be kinda hard to explain, 'sall."

She rolled her eyes and flashed him a crooked smile. "Don't gotta tell me twice. It's not like I'm tryin' ta get a padded cell next to yours."

He grunted and the corner of his mouth curled upwards once more as he realized she was using his own words against him, though not spitefully. "Righ'. So I'll see ya tomorra, Greene?"

She smiled and turned to grasp the door handle of the big black Ford. "Bright an' early - but I'm not leavin' any voicemails this time. See ya tomorrow, Daryl Dixon."

* * *

"Y'think he's gonna go home ta that dyke-lookin' bitch an' talk about how much he hates me? Shit - I'll bet he's rushin' back to 'er with tears in his eyes. Fuckin' asshole. Bet he's gonna cry about his _mean_ _big_ _brother_, Merle, all goddamn night long. He was always too fuckin' soft fer his own damn good, all emotional an' shit."

Beth was trying to tune Merle out as she pulled her dad's truck into its usual spot at the end of the long driveway, out front of the farmhouse. She hoped that if she ignored him, he would just shut up. That hypothesis hadn't proven to be conclusive thus far, but it didn't mean she was ready to stop experimenting. He certainly seemed to hate being ignored, though it only ever made him louder and more annoying.

"Whadd'you think, blondie?" He prodded as she turned off the engine and gathered her purse and phone. "Y'think he's runnin' back home ta tell his precious li'l bestie all about how batshit you are?"

Beth rolled her eyes. "No." _He doesn't wanna sound crazy right along with me. He won't tell anyone about what we went through today._

She grabbed the air freshener Daryl had bought and spritzed it half a dozen times, waving her hand to spread the fragrance around the cab and waft away the cigarette smell. She shoved the can into the glovebox before grabbing the Djab Idol and the hand-written spell from the cupholder. Then she opened the door and climbed out of the truck.

Merle appeared at her side as soon as she'd pressed the Lock button on the key fob and stepped away from the vehicle. She'd grown so used to him popping up that she didn't even flinch in surprise. The exhaustion seemed to be catching up with her all at once now that she knew she was just a few dozen steps away from her bed. She dragged her feet through the grass and towards the porch.

"_No_?! C'mon, you _know_ he's talkin' shit," Merle insisted. "How much you wanna bet?"

She paused at the top of the steps and shot him a glare. "Aren't you done making bets you'll never win? Or did you not learn your lesson yet?"

He frowned and narrowed his eyes. "You need a fuckin' nap. Yer gettin' on my damn nerves."

"Oh, _I'm_ getting on _your_ nerves?" Beth said bitterly. She glanced down at the idol clutched tightly in one hand, lifting it for him to see. "Maybe I should put a little more _thought_ into usin' this thing after all."

Merle narrowed his eyes. "Stop jokin' about that, 's not fuckin' funny."

"Why?" She taunted. "'Cause you know I _do_ have the balls to use it? 'Cause you know that if you keep _pushing_ me, I won't just accept it an' keep _helping_ you?"

He turned his head and spat on the ground, scowling. "Whatever. You wanna be a cunt, I ain't gonna stick around an' listen to it. I should be with Daryl anyhow - ya know, gotta make sure he ain't gonna get _murdered_ while yer catchin' up on _beauty sleep_."

Beth sighed and took a step toward the backdoor. "Yeah, you do that."

"I will! How 'bout you make some use of a night alone an' go flick the bean or somethin'? Yer too fuckin' uptight."

She sputtered in repulsion, "_Excuse_ me…?"

"If ya can't get laid, least you can do is rub one out," he went on, then he leaned back and cackled. "Trust me, blondie. You'll feel better. It's a stress reliever."

"Please disappear now," Beth said, turning away from him.

"Yeah, I am," Merle quipped. "But not 'cause you _told_ me to. Don't get too comfortable - I'll be back."

At that, he disappeared. Thankfully.

She let out a deep sigh of relief and approached the backdoor of the dark and silent farmhouse. Just a few more minutes and she would be in bed - without Merle hovering nearby for once. And that was all she could really ask for after the day she'd had.

**to be continued...**

* * *

**A/N: **The song featured in this chapter is "all the good girls go to hell" by Billie Eilish.


	23. Another Annoying Hindrance (or Sisterly

**Another Annoying Hindrance (or Sisterly Bonds)**

Beth slipped in through the backdoor without making a sound, shutting it behind her and blinking to adjust her eyes to the darkness of the kitchen. She breathed a sigh of relief, grateful that she wouldn't have to lie to her dad or sister tonight.

Then the light flipped on, blinding her for a second. She turned in surprise and found Maggie standing at the other side of the room, clad in pajamas and bare feet with an expectant expression on her face.

_Crap. I was so close._

"You didn't answer your phone," she said, quirking one carefully-sculpted eyebrow.

Beth tensed, hiding the Djab Idol behind her back inconspicuously. "I was busy." It wasn't a total lie.

"You were gone all day," Maggie went on. "It's nearly two in the mornin', Beth."

Beth sighed. She'd already been pushed to her limit by Merle's taunting remarks throughout the day, she didn't have any patience left to spare for her big sister.

The snark was evident in her tone when she replied, "It's _barely_ one-thirty."

Maggie narrowed her eyes.

Beth frowned. "So yer point is… ?"

Maggie sighed. "So my _point_ is: Rick's workin' a helluva lot of overtime, or…?"

Beth struggled not to roll her eyes. Even though he wasn't there, she could practically hear Merle's retort in the back of her head: _"Nah, we were talkin' to a Swamp Witch, seein' our future an' shit. Mind yer business, ya nosey broad."_

She shrugged and responded, "Obviously. You think I _wanted_ to come home this late? I'm exhausted and I don't need you drillin' me about how _late_ I'm stayin' out."

Maggie frowned and crossed her arms over her chest. "Whatever. No need to get so defensive," she said. "I was worried - is that so wrong?"

This time, Beth actually did roll her eyes. "You weren't worried, yer just actin' like I'm sixteen again. Dad doesn't care how late I stay out, so why should you? I'm not a teenager anymore." She chucked the keys in her hand down on the table and crossed the kitchen, moving to push past her sister. She kept the doghead idol clasped in one hand and concealed behind her back.

Maggie reached out and grasped Beth's free arm to stop her. "Stop _acting_ like a teenager and I'll stop _treating_ you like one."

Beth halted and stood before the kitchen door, staring up at Maggie with indignation. She was only a few inches taller but she still towered over Beth like she always had.

"I just wanted ta make sure you'd be up for breakfast in the morning," Maggie said. "If you wanted to stay out with your boyfriend, that's all you had ta say. You don't have ta be a bitch about it."

"I'm not _being_ a bitch," was Beth's first response. Then, "_Boyfriend_? I don't _have_ a boyfriend, I was babysitting."

Maggie released Beth's arm and her frown deepened. "Like I said: stop acting like a teenager an' I'll stop treating you like one. You don't need to lie about babysittin' just 'cause you wanted ta stay out late with Daryl."

Beth was reeling. She could feel her cheeks turning red no matter how hard she tried to suppress it, and her voice came out half-cracked as she struggled to sound confident. "First of all, Daryl is _not_ my boyfriend. We're barely friends. And secondly, I wasn't even _with_ him."

Without missing a beat, Maggie said, "Bullshit. You _do_ realize how loud his bike is, right? Even from down the road." She scrunched up her nose and added, "An' you _reek_ of cigarettes. And _mud_."

Beth scoffed. "If you don't believe I was babysitting, just ask Rick yerself. I don't have any reason to lie."

"I already called Rick a few hours ago - when you wouldn't answer. He was at home with Judith. He said he hasn't talked to you since last _week_."

_Shit_, Beth thought. She could feel her face growing hotter beneath Maggie's intense stare, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. She was running out of lies. How would she explain this away?

"So you were just out all day an' nearly all night with somebody who's 'barely a friend'?" Maggie prodded. Beth pursed her lips.

Now what? Try to explain exactly what she and Daryl had been doing all day? How they'd met? How his dead brother was literally haunting her? Try to convince Maggie that she wasn't a raving lunatic who was dragging some other poor innocent soul down into her pool of insanity? Or make up another lie - something that would quell her intrusive big sister's curiosity for the time being?

Beth had no other choice. She sighed in resignation and leveled her gaze with Maggie's.

"Fine," she said, rather convincingly. She even went as far as to lower her voice, as though she were revealing an embarrassing secret. "You caught us. Me an' Daryl are dating."

Maggie's green eyes lit up and a grin spread her mouth wide to reveal straight white teeth. She reached out with both hands and grasped Beth's wrist, but this time it was with joy rather than trepidation. "Aw, Bethy!"

Beth was overwhelmingly grateful that Merle wasn't present to witness this.

Before Maggie could let out any squeals of excitement or voice any unwanted opinions, Beth firmly added, "But I _don't_ want Dad to know. Or Shawn. Or anybody - okay? Not even Glenn. It-it's still new. _Really_ new. We're not tellin' _anybody_."

Maggie raised her eyebrows as her grin faltered, releasing her grasp on Beth. "But Shawn said Daryl already stopped by with some lame excuse about you leavin' yer phone at Rick's - Dad likes him, he said he was real polite an' everything. Is that how y'all met? Through Rick?"

Beth nodded along without fully realizing how deep she was allowing herself to get in the lie. "Yeah - yeah, basically. He did that on his own, I didn't think he'd wanna uh, meet Daddy so soon. But seriously," she said, snatching at the first opportunity to change the subject. "Don't say anythin'. Especially not to Dad or Shawn. It's not that big a deal - 's not like we're _engaged_ or anything."

She grabbed Maggie's left hand and lifted it up between them, pointedly glancing at the ring on her third finger.

"Oh, so you _did_ notice?" Maggie quipped, smirking as she wriggled her ring finger to show off the sparkly diamond. "I thought you were just bein' a brat."

Beth chuckled and rolled her eyes. "Wow, thanks. Yeah, of course I noticed."

Once again, it wasn't a total lie. Sure, Merle had noticed first. But she would've admittedly been a lot more concerned with the new ring on her sister's finger if it weren't for the dead guy and the strange kid giving her a hand-drawn map to a supposed Swamp Witch.

Maggie pulled her hand back and her smile faded, eyes still locked on Beth's. "Seriously, though - aren't you happy for me? You said you liked Glenn, right?"

"Well yeah," Beth assured. "Why would you even ask that?"

Maggie shrugged. "I guess you've been so wrapped up in Daryl since I got here, it jus' seemed like you didn't have time for me."

Beth frowned. "Not even. You were bein' kind of bitchy about it, don'tcha think?"

Maggie rolled her eyes, but then she smirked. "Maybe a little." Her expression softened and she leaned in, wrapping Beth in a brief hug. "I just wanted to know that my baby sister approves. You're important to me, Bethy - I trust you. I want you ta be happy, too."

Beth shrugged, suddenly battling the urge to pour her heart out to Maggie. "I know. Me, too. I'm glad yer happy. Don't worry, I'm happy too."

Maggie furrowed her brow skeptically. "But yer keepin' it from me. You don't have to lie about Daryl, ya know. If yer worried that me or Shawn or Dad will judge you, we won't. I promise. Daryl's a good guy. He might be a little _old_ for you, but… it's not like Dad has any room to talk."

Beth grimaced, though she tried not to let it show. Her mom had been eighteen years younger than Hershel, but they hadn't been connected by a dead brother's ghost and a demon deal. She pushed those stupid thoughts out of her head and tried to focus on keeping up a believable facade for her sister.

"Please stop," Beth said honestly. "It's not like that. I just - I had a long day. I really wanna go to bed so I can get up in the mornin'."

Maggie nodded in understanding and her green eyes flicked down towards the arm that was hidden behind Beth's back. But then she met Beth's eyes and said, "Alright. But we're gonna talk about this more tomorrow - okay? And have you thought about invitin' him to Mama's memorial service?"

"No," Beth responded quickly. "I don't think that's a good idea, um - yet. We'll talk about it tomorrow. I'm goin' to bed."

"Fine," Maggie agreed. "I'll see you in the mornin'."

Beth quickly walked away, keeping the idol concealed behind her back and then behind her purse until she was sure that her sister had retreated into the kitchen. Then she climbed the stairs two at a time, reaching the landing seconds later. She slipped into her bedroom and shut the door tightly behind her, a whole new slew of thoughts invading her head. Mostly: _did I screw up by telling Maggie that me and Daryl are dating? We agreed not to tell anybody the truth, but I don't think he had this in mind as an alibi. _And for just a moment: _he would never date me, and he'd probably be pissed that I even lied about it. Not that I care - I wouldn't date him either. He's too standoffish._

Nonetheless, as soon as she'd stripped off her clothes and collapsed into bed, she fell asleep. And just before she slipped into unconsciousness, she briefly wondered what kinds of things Merle was overhearing from Daryl right now. If it was anything at all.

* * *

Beth's dreams were plagued with images of all the shadows that had crept around her in childhood; the frantic woman pleading through the playground fence; the old couple walking out of the burning house; Merle calling out to her from the middle of the woods. Then a fleeting flash of Papa Legba's charcoal skin and gleaming red eyes, his cold and malicious laughter echoing off everything. She slept restlessly, tossing and turning. And when her alarm went off and she jolted awake, she opened her eyes to find the bedroom filled with bright sunlight. The blanket was tangled around her legs and the pillow was shoved down by her arm. She sat up and looked around, taking a moment to decipher between her dreams and reality.

She had just begun to recall and accept the events of the night before - making plans with Daryl, arguing with Merle, lying to Maggie - when her eyes flicked over and landed on Merle. He was standing next to the closed bedroom door with his arms crossed over his chest, leaning back against the wall. She couldn't tell if he'd been watching her and waiting or if he'd only recently appeared.

He noticed she was awake. "Mornin', sunshine."

Beth cleared her throat and rubbed the sleep from her eyes, reaching out to grab her phone from the nightstand while greeting Merle casually, "You been there all night?"

"Nah," he responded. "Few hours. The hell was you dreamin' about? Seemed pretty intense."

"I'ono," she grumbled. "I don't even remember now."

"'Dyou even take my advice 'bout diddlin' yer skittle? 'Cause it don't _sound_ like ya did. Kept mumblin' in yer sleep. Sounded like a fuckin' Poetry Slam in here."

Beth ignored him and checked her phone wordlessly. There was a text from Daryl that had arrived at 6 am: _Gonna call Rick. Text me when you're done with breakfast. _She replied to tell him she was awake and to text her when he contacted Rick. Then she set her phone back down and got out of bed, stretching her arms and legs.

"Darylina didn't so much as mention _you_ last night," Merle commented. "_Or_ me. Hell, bastard barely spoke a word. Jus' sat around broodin' all night like a fuckin' teenager."

"And did anyone come by ta _murder_ him, by chance?" Beth asked sarcastically, leisurely moving about as she gathered a clean outfit to take with her to the bathroom.

Merle sneered. "Yer jus' a regular goddamn comedian, aint'cha? That ugly li'l statue's got you all _cocky_ now." He gave a limp-wristed wave towards the Djab Idol that sat atop her desk, the hand-written spell tucked safely beneath its weight. "Tell me, princess, can you even _hear_ me from up on that high horse?"

She rolled her eyes and brushed him off, snatching up her phone as she headed towards the door. "Loud an' clear, unfortunately."

* * *

Beth was right in the middle of shaving her armpits when an unexpected sound echoed inside the bathroom, making her jump in surprise. She immediately hissed in pain as the razor in her hand slipped and left a tiny knick under her arm. She cursed under her breath and rinsed off the blood.

"Hey - _soapy tits_! You hear me?!" Merle repeated, louder this time. "You fuckin' alive in there? Don't _make_ me come behind that curtain now."

"_Yes_!" She snapped, irritated. "You made me cut myself, asshole. Why are you in here?"

"We got a situation with ol' Nosey Nelly," he said.

"Who?" She asked, distracted by the knick on her underarm that wouldn't stop bleeding.

"Yer _sister_!" Merle explained, his voice higher and more impatient. "That broad's nosin' through yer shit, blondie. How you gonna explain the black magic spell sittin' on yer desk?"

Beth nearly fell over, panic immediately flooding her system. _Holy hell. Oh, shit. Shit shit shit. _She scrambled to rinse off the last of the soap on her body and turn off the shower, calling out, "Close yer eyes, I'm comin' out!"

"I'll do ya one better - I'mma go assess the situation. Jus' cover up yer tits an' come do some damage control ASAP. She done went through yer purse."

Beth yanked back the shower curtain to find that Merle had already disappeared. She rushed out of the shower and wrapped a towel around her chest, tucking it beneath her arm. She didn't bother to dry off before she raced out of the bathroom on wet feet.

_Oh Christ, how __**am**__ I gonna explain a black magic spell sitting on my desk? Did she see the map to Morgan's? Did she put two and two together already?_

Beth's bedroom door was open and sure enough, Maggie was inside. She was sitting at the desk, the Djab Idol in one hand and the paper in the other, gazing down at both rather curiously. Merle loomed behind her. They both turned to look at Beth when she entered, all dripping hair and wet towel.

"Well I assessed it," Merle said. "And it's bad. Hope you can lie yer ass off."

Maggie narrowed her eyes, frowning. As though she weren't the one who'd just been caught rifling through someone else's bedroom.

"What're you _doin'_ in here?" Beth asked, clutching at the towel around her chest with one hand.

Maggie pointedly looked Beth up and down and echoed the question: "What're _you_ doing?"

Beth huffed out a frustrated breath. "Yer the one in _my_ room, goin' through my stuff. Why're you in here while I'm takin' a shower?"

Maggie carefully set the idol back down atop the desk, though the paper was still in her other hand. She gestured toward them both. "Bethy, what _is_ this stuff? Why d'you have it?"

Beth blinked, reflexively glancing to Merle. Like _he'd_ be any help. He shrugged, a dumbfounded expression on his face.

"Tell 'er yer switchin' religions," he suggested. "Maybe you wanna dip yer toes inta that Wiccan shit."

She frowned and steadied her gaze on Maggie, who was staring at her expectantly. "It's…" What? It's _what_? A gift from Daryl, her new fake boyfriend? "It's, uh - an artifact…"

Okay, that was actually kinda the truth.

"An _artifact_?"

Beth nodded wordlessly.

Maggie looked even less convinced than before. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Where did you _go_ yesterday? I saw all the new miles put on the truck - _hundreds_. And that map in yer purse. But this - " she gestured toward the doghead idol, held up the paper in her hand - "doesn't make any sense. Why're you and Daryl sneakin' around an' what the _hell_ are you two _up_ to, exactly?"

Beth blinked. Her mouth had gone dry and all the most ridiculous fabrications were running through her head. None of them would ever work, though.

Merle sighed in defeat. "Well shit, I hope you got a good story cookin' up in that pea-sized brain a yers."

She didn't. Not even the fake boyfriend thing would make sense - not that she was particularly eager for Merle to find out about that one anyway.

Maggie's face turned stonier with every second that Beth didn't respond, until she was practically glaring a hole through Beth's skin. Finally, she stood from the desk chair and took a step forward. Beth remained rooted to her spot, water dripping down her legs and from her hair onto the floor, still racking her brain for a decent explanation.

"Beth," Maggie said very firmly, her voice lowered and almost coaxing. "Who were you talkin' to when I walked in here yesterday?"

_Wait - what does that have to do with anything?_

She blinked a couple times and stared back at her big sister stupidly. "I - what? Nobody. I was talkin' to myself."

Maggie raised her eyebrows, clearly unconvinced.

Beth laughed awkwardly. "Whadd'you think, I had somebody _hidin'_ in the closet or something?"

Maggie shook her head. Her frown deepened. "I don't know _what_ to think."

"Christ blondie, jus' shut up already," Merle remarked. "Plead the fifth. Always worked fer me."

Before Beth could think to snatch it away, Maggie opened the paper in her hands and gazed down at it. Her eyebrows furrowed together and finally, Beth's reactions kicked in. She reached out and grabbed the paper from her sister's loose grasp.

Maggie didn't attempt to snatch it back. She set her suspicious glare on Beth.

"What _is_ that, Beth?" She demanded.

Beth's heart was hammering inside her chest. She glanced at Merle, who was standing with his hands held out before him, watching her expectantly.

She started, "I…" But every possible alibi had already faded away before it could reach her lips. "I plead the fifth."

Before Maggie could react, Beth spun on her heel and left the room, rushing back to the bathroom while Merle hooted with laughter and Maggie cried after her, "What - are you outta yer _mind_? Hey, don't you walk away from me! There _is_ no pleading the fifth in this house!"

Beth locked the bathroom door behind her and folded the paper back up, setting it aside so she could hurriedly dry off and dress with shaky hands. Maggie was outside the door within seconds, pounding on it and demanding to be let in.

"Beth, yer _scaring_ me!" Maggie called through the thick wooden door. "What the hell _was_ that? Where did you _go_ yesterday? And what on _earth_ have you been doin' with that Daryl Dixon guy?!"

Beth tried to tune out her sister's voice, toweling her hair dry with clumsy hands and watching her pale face in the mirror. What was she supposed to say? How was she supposed to get out of this? If she didn't give Maggie a satisfying explanation, there was no doubt she'd get Daddy and Shawn involved. And then she'd really be screwed.

"Beth! Open the damn door before I get Shawn to break it down!"

Merle appeared with a hand over his eyes. "'Bout damn time you take my advice. See? It worked, jus' like I told ya. You got yer tits covered?"

She could see him peeking through the gaps of his fingers and she rolled her eyes. "Yes. But I can't stay hidden in here forever. She's not gonna take that as a real answer." She kept her voice low, hands still shaking as she ran a brush through her damp hair.

Maggie kept banging on the door, louder and louder with every moment that she went ignored. Beth shoved the folded-up banishing spell into her jeans pocket, silently vowing to never leave it out in the open again.

"So sneak out the window," Merle suggested with a shrug.

Beth shook her head, sighing. "That's not an option."

"_Goddammit_, Beth! Open this fucking door!" Maggie was getting angrier and angrier.

"Why the hell's she care so much anyhow?" Merle asked. "The fuck's she so worried about ya for? What'd you tell 'er 'bout Daryl?"

Beth bit her lip and hesitated. "Nothing," she said. "She just knows we've been hanging out. She's always been really - _overprotective_."

Merle huffed out a humorless laugh. "Overprotective? More like over-fuckin'-bearing. Tell 'er ta fuck off an' mind her business."

_She just wants to help, _Beth almost said. But Merle wouldn't understand that.

"That's it, I'm goin' ta get Shawn!" Maggie declared, her voice muffled by the door. "And he's with Dad so that means Dad's gonna wanna know why you locked yerself in the bathroom, too!"

Merle threw his hands up. "Well, guess that's it. The jig's up. I'll do what I can ta get you outta the psych ward blondie, but I ain't gonna make no promises."

_Maybe if I explained it all, she wouldn't think I'm crazy,_ Beth thought. _Would it even be worth the risk, though?_

"Okay, here I go - I'm goin' ta get Shawn and Dad!" Maggie called out. "Boy, Dad's gonna be _pissed_ when he has ta fix a busted door!" Her voice was slowly getting farther away.

_I have to help Daryl, but I can't keep lying to my family._

Her breaths were coming in shorter gasps, her mind racing. Suddenly, a faint voice popped into her head: _Look into your home and into your heart, lass. There is a bond beyond worlds residing within you and another you love._

And now she was wondering how she hadn't contemplated those odd words from Morgan before this. Admittedly, she'd been a bit caught up in the whole murderer on the loose/demon deal/soul in trouble thing. But now that she was taking a moment to mull it over… Well, someone she loved could only be so many people - maybe Maggie? Or Daddy? Or even Shawn? There weren't a lot of people that resided both within her home _and_ within her heart.

But what if it was ill-advised? What if the person that had spoken through Morgan had been _wrong_? What if Beth really _was_ the only person with a Gift in her whole family - what if no one that she loved could ever actually understand it, let alone help her? What if there was no 'bond beyond worlds' to be found?

Well… it wasn't like she had any other choice at this point.

Maggie was standing at the top of the stairs when Beth whipped open the bathroom door and stepped out into the hall. As soon as she emerged, Maggie set her angry green eyes on her younger sister and spoke sharply.

"Are you gonna _talk_ to me now?"

Beth nodded weakly, still struggling to calm her trembling hands. "If you promise not to get Dad or Shawn involved."

Maggie paused, seemingly taken aback by the request. But then she shrugged and stepped away from the stairs. "Fine. As long as it's not somethin' bad - like dangerous or life-threatening."

Beth pressed her lips together and glanced away.

Maggie took a step closer and spoke firmly. "Bethy, if yer in danger, I _have_ to get Dad an' Shawn involved. So we can _help_ you."

Beth sighed and shook her head. "It's not _me_ that's in danger."

Maggie quirked a brow. "So yer not… doin' drugs or something?"

Beth looked at her sister indignantly. "_No_! Of _course_ not. It's nothin' like that. I'm not _stupid_, Maggie. I'm not sneakin' around doin' anything _illegal_."

Merle scoffed from behind her. "I wish. Be a lot cooler if ya did."

"Okay, I believe you," Maggie said, lowering her voice. "I just - you've got me really _worried_, Beth. I can't figure out what's goin' on, but it's just not _like_ you."

Beth frowned. "I know, okay? I'll tell you everything, but you have to promise to _listen_ \- and to keep it between us. _Nobody_ else. Not even Glenn."

"_Everything_?!" Merle repeated. "Even the talkin' to ghosts shit? Christ, this'll be a trip." He chortled.

_Well I kinda __**have**__ to explain the talking to ghosts part, dumbass,_ Beth almost quipped back. She stopped herself at the last second - talking to Merle out loud had become a bad habit far quicker than she'd ever expected.

Maggie opened her mouth to argue but Beth cut her off before she could start.

"I _mean_ it, Maggie. Promise me."

"Okay," Maggie nodded, giving Beth a suspicious once-over. "I promise."

* * *

A few moments later, Beth and Maggie were sitting in Beth's bedroom with the door tightly shut and locked. Merle perched himself in the desk chair, one leg resting over his knee and his arms crossed in front of his chest as he leaned back and watched. Beth sat in the middle of her bed, dressed for the day except for shoes, her legs criss-crossed beneath her. Maggie sat on the edge of the bed with one leg over the edge and the other folded beneath her, her body turned towards Beth and her full attention set on the younger Greene.

Maggie looked anxious, but Beth was certain that she looked even more anxious at the moment. She forced herself to focus on Maggie, though Merle's smug face was ever prevalent in her periphery. He licked his lips like he was waiting for a show to begin. And maybe he was, she reckoned.

In the silence of the bedroom, the tension hung over them like a blanket of electricity. Beth didn't know where to start. Maggie stared at her, eyebrows raised, an expectant expression settled on her face.

_So I can see ghosts - no. No, too blunt. So I've had this weird thing all my life and I didn't really know if it was real or not - yeah okay, good start. But how do I say it without sounding like I have some kinda undiagnosed psychosis? Crap, I wish I could just call Morgan and have him explain it for me._

Beth's mind was going a million miles a minute but it still wasn't quick enough to form a comprehensive sentence before Maggie grew concerned. Her brows knitted together and Beth could see her fiddling with the diamond ring on her finger nervously. Then she was breathing out heavily through her nose, frowning. And Beth still hadn't figured out what the hell to say.

"Well…?" Maggie asked softly, looking Beth up and down for the thousandth time.

Beth sighed. She began fiddling with the ends of her damp hair. Her voice caught in her throat and stayed there.

Maggie pursed her lips and waited expectantly for several long seconds. When Beth didn't so much as open her mouth though, Maggie spoke.

"You an' Daryl aren't really dating… are you?"

Beth's stomach plummeted and Merle laughed loudly.

"Oh shit, is _that_ what you told her?" He laughed again. "Nice one, blondie. Daryl's gonna be _thrilled_ when he finds out! Damn, did'ja tell yer daddy that, too?" His belly shook with more laughter and Beth struggled to tune him out.

"No," Beth answered, her voice coming out hoarse past a dry throat. She kept her eyes locked on Maggie's. "I just met him like, less'an three days ago."

Maggie didn't appear particularly shocked. She simply nodded. "So what's he gotta do with this? You _were_ with him all day yesterday, weren't you?"

Beth cleared her throat and steadied her voice. "Yeah. But we weren't doin' anything _bad_."

"Well it can't be _good_ if you had ta _lie_ to Dad about it," Maggie countered.

Beth sighed, shaking her head. "I didn't lie because it's somethin' I shouldn't be doing. I lied because… there's jus' no way to _explain_ it to him. He'd never understand. He'd think I'm _crazy_."

Maggie's brows knit together in confusion. "That's not true, Bethy. Whatever it is, I'm sure Dad would jus' wanna help. He _knows_ yer not a little kid anymore - I think he knows it better than I do sometimes."

Beth scoffed. "Ya think?"

Maggie frowned. "I'm sorry, Beth. It's hard, okay? You'll always be my baby sister, whether yer still a _baby_ or not. Even when you're sixty-five an' I'm seventy-one, I'll always see you as my little sister who needs protected. I can't _help_ it."

A pang of guilt shot through Beth's chest. "I know," she responded quietly. "I just…" But the words dissipated on her tongue and fled her altogether.

Maggie waited for a moment before asking, "Just what? Tell me what it is, Bethy. I wanna _help_. Whatever it is… I swear I won't judge you."

Tears pooled in Beth's eyes and she didn't even realize until she'd blinked and one fell down her cheek. She quickly wiped it away and straightened her back. Maggie's face fell at the sight of the tears.

"I'm not… _crazy_," Beth started, her voice coming out choked. She cleared it and tried to push away the knot that had formed behind her tongue. She struggled to meet her sister's eyes, to hold back the tears that wanted to fall at the hint of fear in Maggie's expression. "And it's gonna sound like I am - but I'm _not_. Okay? I know what's real and what isn't and trust me, I've questioned my own sanity _more_ than enough over the last few days."

Maggie nodded stiffly. "Okay," she said. "I believe you."

Beth stilled her trembling bottom lip and forced herself to speak clearly, to maintain eye contact with Maggie. Even then, her voice came out no louder than a whisper.

"You remember the Clarks down the road?"

Maggie nodded wordlessly.

"And the fire? The one that killed 'em?"

Another silent nod.

"I saw them that night. When we were all standing out in the road, watchin' their house burn up. I saw the Clarks walk out. They were holding hands and-and they were… happy."

Maggie's brows furrowed. "But they died, Bethy," she breathed out. "They burned up together in their bed before the firemen even got there."

Beth nodded, fighting back more tears. "I know. But I _saw_ 'em. I watched them… cross over."

Maggie blinked. Then the corner of her mouth twitched, like she was about to smile. But she didn't. She just cleared her throat and said, "Oh."

Beth glanced away, down at the comforter on her bed. She licked her lips and hesitated. Then she said softly, "You know how I almost died when I was born?" She dragged her eyes up to meet her sister's.

Maggie's lips parted and a deep crease had formed on her forehead. "Mom an' Dad told you?"

"No," Beth said flatly. "But someone else did." She hadn't been certain that Maggie would know, but she was pretty sure. Their parents had always told Maggie all the things they thought Beth couldn't handle.

"What - _who_?" Maggie asked. "Dad said the umbilical cord got wrapped around yer neck before you came out. You weren't breathing. They were scared. They only told me once, when I was little. They never talked about it. _Ever_."

Beth nodded. "Yeah. I know about it now… I drove down to Florida yesterday. I talked to a guy who knows things. He - he knew all _about_ me."

She could see Maggie swallowing hard, green eyes becoming watery. "Who did you talk to in Florida? How could he have known _anything_ about you?"

Beth shrugged. "I can't explain it. I'm not gonna sound logical, no matter how hard I try. But… he knew. He's a witch. Like - a _real_ witch. A legit one."

She paused to gauge Maggie's expression. The brunette didn't flinch. She didn't even laugh. So Beth went on.

"He said I have a… _Gift_. Like him. There's other people with Gifts, too. Maybe in our family. We have this thing that we can do, and we don't choose it - 's jus' kinda inherited, I guess. But… he saw it all. He explained it to me and I can't…" She cleared her throat and swallowed hard, the knot growing thicker, more tears pushing their way forward. She fought them back, forced her voice to come out strong and sure. "I can't deny it. 'Cause it makes sense. And I don't want it… this _Gift_. I _never_ wanted it - but now I'm stuck with it."

Maggie was frowning heavily, face gone pale as she stared at Beth with parted lips. As though she wanted to say something but couldn't find the right words. Her eyes were wide with disbelief, but there was also a flicker of something else.

Maybe realization. Maybe fear. Maybe both. Beth couldn't quite tell.

Then Maggie blinked and asked, "And what does _that_ mean?"

Beth's hands clenched around her own thighs and she forced herself to maintain eye contact with her sister, forced the words to form inside her head and her mouth before she released them.

Her voice came out shaky and uncertain despite her better efforts: "Daryl's brother died a few weeks ago - his name's Merle. Everyone thinks he hung himself. But he _didn't_. He's dead, but his soul is stuck on this plane of existence. He can't cross over because he made a deal with a demon; he wagered his own soul _and_ Daryl's without even realizing what he was doing. And he needs my help. _Both_ of them do. 'Cause besides that Witch in Florida, I'm the only one who can see an' hear Daryl's dead brother."

Maggie's jaw dropped. Her eyes went wide as saucers and she blinked rapidly, staring at Beth speechlessly.

Beth let out a long breath, her heart still racing. But Maggie wasn't throwing her into a car and driving her to the nearest psych ward yet, so that had to be a good sign.

She quickly went on, the words pouring from her mouth in an uninhibited emotional outburst, "It's complicated - I can explain _everything_ if you want. But I swear it's the truth. I'd swear it on Mama's _grave_. Merle Dixon is _haunting_ me, Maggie."

Merle scoffed but miraculously retained his silence.

"He showed up in the woods the other day an' he hasn't gone away since. I had to track Daryl down and convince him to hear me out, then some kid gave me a map an' said I needed to come meet a Swamp Witch, and-and we drove all the way to _Florida_ and this guy told me things about myself that nobody could've _ever_ known. I - "

"I believe you."

Beth stopped abruptly. She blinked and stared at Maggie, perplexed. "You do…?"

Maggie nodded, lips pressed into a thin line. Her face was drained of color and her eyes were pooling with unshed tears. "This is it, isn't it?"

Now it was Beth's turn to be confused. "What?"

Maggie swallowed and roughly wiped a hand across her eyes. She sniffled and said, "This is the part where you need my guidance - where you turn to me for strength. You need the kind of unconditional love that can only be found in your sister. 'Cause I'm the firstborn. 'Cause our souls share an eternal bond."

The heavy weight within Beth's chest suddenly felt ten tons lighter, oddly comforted by the words. Though she was still baffled, a bit taken aback at the way Maggie was talking. "Well yeah, I guess. But… what d'you mean?"

Maggie's mouth quirked into the most curious half-smile. Then she took a deep breath and squared her shoulders, leaning in just a little closer as she gazed into Beth's eyes.

"I have a secret, too," she whispered. "But you can't tell _anybody_… Not even Glenn."

Beth's breath hitched in her throat and she froze. "I… I won't."

The half-smile grew into a sad sort of grin and Maggie raised her eyebrows.

"I know yer not crazy. I know that whoever you talked to _had_ to be a Witch… 'Cause I met a Witch, too," she said softly.

Beth couldn't help it: she gasped.

Merle was speechless and wide-eyed in his seat. He let out a low, "Whaaaaaat…"

Maggie's sad grin flickered. "A long time ago, when you were still really little. I tried to forget it. Tried ta tell myself it was a weird dream or somethin'. But no matter how hard I try, I'll _never_ forget it…" She glanced away briefly. "She told me things that no one should've _ever_ known. And fer all these years, I hoped she was wrong…"

Beth was dumbstruck. She didn't know what to say.

Then Maggie added, "But everything she said turned out to be true."

She met Beth's gaze with an intense stare of determination, though it was tinged with regret. Or pity. Or perhaps empathy. Whatever it was that somehow connected them now.

Beth felt like she was six years old again, asking her big sister for a juicy middle school story that was surely embellished to make it seem much more interesting than it actually was. Except she _knew_ it was the truth this time. She knew that Maggie wouldn't say such a thing if it weren't completely honest. And in a way, that scared her even more than the prospect of being locked up in a psych ward; to be reassured that everything she'd learned was very much meant to be, and that Morgan's intervention hadn't been such a random happenstance after all. To think that the answer to her deepest question had been right there all along. Right in her own home, just as Morgan had foretold.

Had it really been so simple this whole time? Sitting right in front of her without her even knowing? Had it really been Maggie that she needed to turn to rather than some distant relative or ancestor that Beth would never be able to contact?

Maggie wasn't a liar. And Beth knew for a fact that Maggie would never lie to _her_. So it had to be true. What choice did she have but to believe it? Just as she'd believed everything Morgan told her.

"Like what?" She asked breathlessly, searching Maggie's face for an immediate explanation. "What'd she tell you?"

But her sister's expression was solemn and indiscernible, jade green eyes clouding into a hazy emerald color as they quickly flicked down and back up to meet Beth's. Maggie sighed and hesitated. Beth waited with bated breath.

"A lotta things," Maggie muttered ominously. "Stuff I didn't think would ever matter… I thought it was _bullshit_, Bethy. I had no idea. I've never told _anyone_ about it. I-I couldn't. I thought she was insane, or that _I_ was insane."

Tears welled up in her eyed and she looked to Beth with pleading, silently begging forgiveness for her ignorance. Beth felt another pang of guilt.

She shook her head. "It wasn't bullshit, though," Beth whispered. "Was it?"

Maggie shook her head as well, a tight-lipped smile forming on her face.

"No. I don't think it was. Not at all."

Beth bit her lip. There was a beat. She could taste copper on her tongue but she couldn't feel any pain, couldn't tear her curious gaze away from Maggie's glassy eyes.

"Tell me," Beth whispered hoarsely. "Tell me _everything_. Please."

Maggie swallowed hard and leaned back. She reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear before folding her hands in her lap. She looked down at them thoughtfully, stalling the silence for a long moment. Then she took a shaky breath and lifted her gaze to meet Beth's.

"You have ta understand, I was just a dumb kid. I didn't know _what_ to think…"

**to be continued...**

* * *

**A/N: **Next chapter is kind of long but it's Maggie's flashback chapter. And probably my second favorite chapter that I've written right after the Papa Legba chapter :)


	24. Old Widows' Tale

**Old Widows' Tale**

_There was an old woman who lived a few miles down the road from the Greene Farm. She'd lived there for many years, Maggie's daddy had said. But unlike all his other neighbors, she didn't attend church or talk to anyone in the community. The times she was spotted out and about in the small town of Senoia were few and far between. No one knew anything about her, not even her name._

_From the way Hershel and Annette talked, she'd been there for as long as they could remember. They said she had to be close to 100 years old by now, and she didn't have any family or friends that visited. She didn't even have a car. Once or twice, Maggie had heard Annette referring to her as an 'odd duck.' Though Maggie wasn't quite sure why. She'd only ever glimpsed the woman a handful of times, and as far as Maggie was concerned, she appeared to be a pretty normal and boring old lady._

_Maggie's daddy had told her time and time again not to wander too far away from the house. She usually obeyed, especially if Shawn was tagging along because he always snitched on her. But a couple years after Beth was born, Maggie decided to ignore her parents' warnings. She went out to play like she always did, except this time she walked and walked and kept walking, so engrossed in her hunt for bugs and wild animals that she wound up wandering farther away than usual. She found her way toward the road and the strange old woman's house came into view. And though Maggie had no intentions of visiting, she circled around it nonetheless. Searching for clues as to why this old woman was considered so odd._

_She couldn't help herself. She'd always been curious - and a little rebellious. But ever since Beth came along, Maggie had felt an inexplicable need to do more. More good, more bad, more anything. She found herself constantly overlooked in favor of her new baby sister. And while she understood that a new baby needed a lot of attention, she also resented Beth just the slightest. Because Maggie wanted attention, she wanted to be noticed and heard and seen and worried about. She wanted to be doted on and bragged about and complimented left and right. That was what she was used to. And then that had all changed when Annette and Shawn came along, and it changed even more once Beth was born. _

_So when she lingered around that spooky old house and the strange woman who owned it appeared from around the side and called out to her, Maggie had no choice but to stop. In fact, she was a bit eager to meet this old woman, the one she knew so little about. _

"_Little girl! Little girl, I see you."_

_Maggie was kind of excited that the woman had called out to her, that she'd even noticed her at all. Nowadays, it felt like hardly anybody noticed her._

_Yet she froze in place and didn't respond, suddenly very nervous. The old woman took a few more steps toward her, away from the house. She was very old, though Maggie didn't think she looked 100 years old. Or even close to it. Because her grandpa had been 94 when he died and she could remember that he'd been way more wrinkly and skeletal than this woman._

_Her hair was completely white and a bit frizzy, plaited into a single long, thick braid that hung down to the backs of her knees. Her skin was pale, starved of sunlight and wrinkled with age, though she still had a fairly clear complexion. She was barely taller than Maggie, standing no more than five feet at the most. There was a slight hunch to her back and she walked with a shiny black cane gripped in one weathered hand. Her face was narrow and sagging, though she still had high, sharp cheekbones and thick gray eyebrows. Her eyes were bright green and full of life beneath droopy eyelids._

_She was frowning, looking Maggie up and down suspiciously. Then she waved, urging Maggie closer. Maggie obliged and took a few cautious steps into the grass, until they were less than a yard apart._

"_Little girl, what are you doing so far out here? Are you lost?"_

_Maggie shook her head. She glanced back toward the direction she'd come from and answered, "No. I live down the road. On the farm."_

_The old woman's face lit up with recognition and she froze, furrowing her brow and studying Maggie. "Oh - you are here, aren't yeh?"_

_Maggie gave her a confused look._

_Then the old woman smiled wide, baring a set of yellowed teeth from between thin pink lips. She seemed to have seen whatever she was looking for as she stared at Maggie._

"_I know you. I've heard your name. Come here, sweet Greene girl."_

'_Of course you've heard my name,' Maggie thought. 'Everyone in Senoia knows us. My daddy is friends with everybody.'_

_But without question, she walked forward and approached the old woman as directed. She was still confused, unsure of why this woman she'd never talked to before was grinning like she recognized a friendly, familiar face. Had her dad talked to this woman before, maybe told her things about Maggie? That was her only guess. Unless she was in fact the 'odd duck' that Annette had made her out to be. In which case, maybe Maggie should be exercising a little more caution._

_But it was only a few miles away from the house and the Greene's knew everyone in Senoia, so what could this lady really do? She certainly seemed harmless enough - all frail limbs and sagging skin and hunching back. She moved slow, too. Maggie could easily outrun her if worse came to worst._

_The goosebumps formed immediately and the hair on the back of her neck stood on end as soon as the old woman reached out and wrapped a cold, dainty hand around Maggie's wrist. But it wasn't because of fear. She couldn't even really explain it. She simply felt some sort of weird electricity jolt through her at the elderly woman's touch - a sensation she'd never experienced before. She wanted to jump back but she also didn't want to be rude. So she tensed up and remained where she was, allowing the woman to grasp her wrist tightly and stare deeply into her eyes, her wide grin fading into a very thoughtful look._

_She seemed to be studying Maggie, searching for… something._

"_What're you doing?" Maggie asked. "Are you okay?"_

_The old woman chuckled. When she spoke, Maggie identified the hint of an Irish accent in her voice. "Yes, love. I'm perfectly fine. You, however - why, I'm afraid you've no idea what lies ahead. Sweet Greene girl… It's Maggie, isn't it?"_

_Maggie nodded hesitantly. "Um, yeah… What's yer name?"_

_The woman smiled and raised her thick eyebrows. "Mine is a very old name, lass. And it's a secret. Can you keep a secret, Maggie?"_

_Maggie nodded again. Then she narrowed her eyes and thought about the warning that her parents had been putting in her head for as long as she could remember. "I don't think I'm s'posed ta keep secrets fer strangers."_

_The old woman laughed, shaking her head. Then, still grinning, she leaned in and whispered, "Love, I am no stranger. I already know you. But you have only just met me. My name is Florence Newton, and I am the Witch of Youghal."_

_Maggie quirked a brow. Maybe Annette had been right about this one. "Witches aren't real - and what's Youghal?"_

_The woman - Florence - chuckled softly. Then she replied, "It's a lovely little place in Ireland, my dear. Hasn't your father ever told you about your heritage? Greene is a very old and revered name in the motherland." She paused and her smile widened, turning almost mischievous as she added, "Rather, it was in my lifetime. Before I fled. Many, many years ago."_

_Maggie grew even more quizzical. "Um, not ta be rude but… how old are you?"_

_Florence patted Maggie's hand before releasing her wrist and grasping the cane with both wrinkly hands. She looked back at Maggie very seriously and said, "I am older even than this beloved little nation you're living in. I was born in fifteen-ninety-six."_

_Maggie couldn't stop the laughter that burst out of her mouth. "The year? That's not possible. You'd be like, four hundred years old!"_

_But the woman didn't laugh. She just smiled knowingly and tilted her head to the side a bit. And Maggie's grin quickly vanished._

"_Is your childlike wonder gone so soon, lass?" Florence asked sadly. "You are far too young - far too Gifted - to be filled with such doubt."_

_Maggie shrugged. She'd always been skeptical. She didn't know why, she just was. For as long as she could remember, she'd had an inexplicable need to see the world for what it really was; to pull back that huge stage curtain that hid the truth._

_There had always been something deep inside her that made her feel like there was more to know, like everyone was hiding something from her. When she was 5, it had led her to finding out that the Tooth Fairy was most certainly not real. And when she was 6, it had led her to investigating and eventually discovering that Santa Claus was actually just her parents. She'd never fallen for the Easter Bunny crap. Some days, she even wondered if all that stuff in the Bible was for real (how could a guy come back from the dead after three days?! Every science book she could find said it was impossible!) - but there was no way she'd ever try to dispute it. Shawn had cried for a full week when she told him the truth about Santa, and she didn't understand why he was so upset because she wasn't even disappointed. She'd expected it, so she was just happy to have proven herself right. She didn't even want to think about the fallout that could come from questioning her faith._

"_I just don't believe in fairytales," Maggie explained simply. "I don't like bein' lied to. I'm not a helpless little baby. I don't need ta be coddled like one."_

_Florence pursed her lips, nodding slowly. Then she smiled almost mischievously. "No, you're not a helpless baby. Are you? An old soul indeed. You're a strong, smart young lady. And you will never need to be coddled because you are destined for great things."_

_Maggie narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "What d'you mean?"_

_She'd heard these things before from nearly every adult in her life. They all doted on her, gushing about how 'gifted' she was and how she had a 'very bright future.' But the way this woman spoke, it sounded different. Like maybe there was more to it than just being at a higher reading level than the rest of her class._

"_You've no idea where you come from, lass?" Florence asked. "What it means to be a Greene such as yourself?"_

_Maggie shook her head._

_The old woman paused and her smile faltered. "My people persecuted me for being Gifted. They were scared - the unknown terrifies those who do not understand it. That was a different time and things have changed, but people… well, people never change. They destroy what they fear, and they fear what they can't understand." Florence licked her lips, resituating her hands around the head of the cane she leaned on for support. Her gaze grew more intense, focused completely on Maggie. "You're very special, Maggie Greene. But your father would never understand. He would only be afraid… I have many things to tell you, but they must not be repeated. To anyone. Your life is yours alone and your path is your own to decide. Your Gift is yours to do with as you wish. But you will never be able to choose if you do not know."_

_Maggie stared back quizzically. "Everybody says I'm special. I'm on the honor roll."_

_Florence laughed. "Oh, sweet lass. That's not what I mean."_

"_You said I have a Gift…"_

"_Aye. A Gift that very few possess. It's in your blood, Miss Greene. The women you descended from were incredibly Gifted. But this Gift does not pass down to those unworthy of its power."_

_Maggie wanted to laugh but she didn't. She smirked. "What're you gonna tell me, that I'm a superhero or somethin'? I'm not stupid, Mrs. Newton."_

"_It's Ms. Newton. My husband has been dead for centuries, darling."_

"_Sorry - Ms. Newton."_

"_It's quite alright. I know you're not stupid. You're the farthest thing from stupid. But you are ignorant."_

"_Pardon me?"_

"_Of the truth, dear. Of your history."_

_Maggie narrowed her eyes. Then she said, "Okay then. Tell me."_

_Florence smiled and stood up a little straighter. "Oh - where to begin?" She tapped her cane in the grass excitedly. "Come inside, love. Have some tea. I have much and more to tell you."_

_Maggie glanced back over her shoulder, as though her daddy were going to pull up in his truck at any moment. She still wasn't sure if it was safe to trust this odd old woman, to follow her into her home and accept food or drink. But her curiosity was piqued. She couldn't deny that Florence had caught her attention, nor could she deny that something deep within her was tugging her forward. As though she were being pushed into the house by an unseen force, tempted by the offer of a carefully-woven tale. Whether it was made up or not, she kind of wanted to hear it. _

_So she nodded and followed Florence._

_The inside of Ms. Newton's house was dusty and hazy with pungent smoke. It was a small one-story home and it was filled with various knick knacks, all of which looked older than the house itself. The furniture was sparse and worn-out. But the strangest thing Maggie noticed was the complete lack of a TV. Who didn't own a TV? And she didn't see a phone anywhere either. There was a big clunky radio sitting in the living room, but that was the only electronic in sight. The kitchen didn't even have a microwave. _

_Maggie found all of this very odd, but she assumed this woman was rather impoverished. Maybe Florence couldn't afford all those luxury items._

_Maggie sat down warily at the kitchen table and watched Florence hobble over to the stove and prepare a kettle before setting out two teacups, a small dish of sugarcubes, and a small dish of milk. Maggie noticed there were no magnets on the fridge - something else she rarely saw at other people's houses. But she kept her mouth politely shut and waited until Florence was pouring tea into the two cups and bringing them over to the table to set between them. The old woman sat down in the chair across from Maggie._

"_You take sugar in your tea?" She asked, offering over the dish of sugarcubes._

_Maggie shrugged, eyeballing the tiny cup of steaming liquid before her. "I guess. I like sweet tea."_

_Florence chuckled and proceeded to scoop a couple of cubes into Maggie's cup before pouring a bit of milk in. "This is much better than your American sweet tea, lass."_

_Maggie watched the sugarcubes dissolve within the hot liquid in her cup, the milk creating little white clouds, and she stuck in the tiny spoon sitting on her dish and stirred it around until the tea changed colors. Then she lifted the cup with both hands and took a tentative sip. It slid down her throat and warmed her whole body. And the old lady was right - it was even better than Annette's famous sweet tea._

"_I've seen you in many of my dreams, Maggie," Florence said, both wrinkled hands wrapped around her cup as she smiled across the table._

_Maggie furrowed her brow. "You have?"_

_Florence nodded. "I have several Gifts and one of them is the Gift of Sight; I see countless lives while I sleep, thousands of glimpses into both the past and the future alike."_

"_Like what?" Maggie asked, too curious to resist._

"_Your birth… The moment that the Gift lying dormant in your blood was sparked to life… Your mother's death."_

"_I don't like ta talk about my mom," Maggie said reflexively. "I have a new mom now - Annette. And a little brother and a baby sister. I barely even remember Josephine."_

"_Oh, love," Florence frowned, pity filling her lively green eyes. "I know it hurts, but she is always a part of you. Don't call her Josephine; she is your mother."_

_Maggie shrugged and became a little defensive. "My daddy doesn't like talkin' about her so why should I? We made a new family."_

"_I know," Florence's frown slowly turned into a sad smile. "I've seen your family, too. Your new baby sister - she's quite the perceptive little thing, isn't she? Always chatting away to everyone and no one at all."_

_Maggie nodded hesitantly._

"_Beth, isn't it? She came into the world and gave you all a fright, didn't she?"_

'_How could she know about this?' Maggie thought. 'Mom and Dad haven't talked about Beth's birth to anybody since it happened.'_

_Florence smiled, reading the disbelief on Maggie's face. "I saw that too, lass," she explained reassuringly. "When your parents thought tiny Beth had died before she could be born. But she overcame the odds and surprised you all, didn't she? Aye, the child born twice."_

_Maggie didn't nod or shake her head. She just stared back at the old woman with a dumbstruck look on her face._

"_It may have been scary, but it had its purpose. The way that you and your sister came into this world is the reason why your Gift was brought to life; without those circumstances, the incredible Gifts that lay sleeping within your soul would never have been awoken. There is great power in your Greene blood, sweet Maggie. The blood that you share with your father and your sister, the blood that has carried this Gift from generation to generation." Florence smiled and took a leisurely sip of her tea. Then she went on, "You were born in quite a special way too, weren't you?"_

_Maggie wasn't sure how to respond to this. She took a sip of tea just for the sake of doing something and stared back at the old woman, wide-eyed and skeptical. And maybe a little spooked. Then she bit her lip and nodded to confirm Florence's assumption._

"_Yes, you weren't quite dead like wee Beth, but you were close. Your time to enter the world was not meant to come until much later."_

"_I was six weeks premature. That's not so bad. I turned out fine anyhow."_

"_Aye, you turned out more than fine. Not only were you early, but you were born en caul as well - isn't that right?" She chuckled. "Very rare. Very special indeed."_

_Maggie shrugged and said, "It's not really that rare. One in eighty-thousand babies are born en caul. I looked it up. It's uncommon at best."_

_Florence continued smiling. "Oh, it's rare, lass. Perhaps one in eighty-thousand are born caul. But fewer than that survive being thrust into the mortal plane so prematurely. And even fewer still are born actually __**en caul**__… You are one in a million, dear child."_

_That was true, Maggie had to admit. She'd heard of lots of babies born early like her who didn't make it out of the NICU. And yeah, it was a fact that any bit of membrane stuck to an infant's head technically made them a 'caul birth.' But Maggie had been born with more than just a bit of membrane covering her head or face; she'd been pulled out while still completely enveloped in the amniotic sac. She'd been a real en caul birth. She'd already left her mother's womb and entered the world for two full minutes before the doctors broke her protective sac and she finally took her first breath. Her daddy had told her how amazed he'd been, how he'd only ever seen such a thing happen in a handful of the cattle he'd raised. How the doctors and nurses had stopped to take videos and photos of her miraculous arrival. And then he'd told her about the old wives' tales that said babies born like her were said to be destined for greatness. How Josephine had been so adamant that it was true and how she'd proudly boasted that her precious baby girl was meant to live a groundbreaking life._

_Of course, those were just old wives' tales. Nothing more. It was simply a medical phenomenon, something that happened so rarely that it blew people's minds and made them jump to all sorts of superstitious conclusions. And Maggie's mama had always been the superstitious type. That's what Daddy had said._

"_I guess it's a little more rare," Maggie muttered. "But what's that matter? Why would it mean I have a gift? My dad says those are just superstitions and old wives' tales."_

_Florence threw back her head and let out a hearty laugh. Then, still grinning, she said, "Old wives' tales - aye, lass. The old wives have always been the ones to see things for what they truly are; to look beyond The Veil without fear of the unknown. And because of that, we have always been shunned and brushed off as insane, superstitious… evil. In my day, they claimed we were possessed. They called it witchcraft. They claimed we worshipped the Devil and did His bidding. But the Devil has no power over us. We are the ones with the power. We are the only ones who can contend with the Devil's great forces… We travel through places where we do not belong for the purpose of saving those who are lost. We see that which is unseeable for reasons that are not explained. We hear the silent voices of those that are most misguided."_

"_Like psychics?" Maggie asked naively. She thought of that lying John Edwards guy that she'd seen on TV, how he claimed he could speak to the dead and help people cross over and whatnot. "My dad says those people are all crooks just tryin' to swindle gullible folks outta their hard-earned money."_

_Florence cackled. "Of course he does. Your father is a good man, but he lacks the ability to see beyond The Veil. He will always doubt what he cannot experience for himself. And he will never understand the Gift that you and your sister have been given, darling." She paused and took a sip of tea before adding, "His blood is full of potential, but it is a potential he can never unlock. He won't accept the truth, even if it is lain at his very feet. Even if it is coursing through his own veins."_

_Maggie frowned. "What's that mean?"_

_Her young brain was racing, trying to process all the things this strange old woman was telling her. She still wasn't sure whether she should believe it or not. It was sounding an awful lot like an old wives' tale, or some stupid ghost story. She'd never much cared for ghost stories. Or old ladies who told lies to kids just for the fun of it._

_Florence rested her elbows on the edge of the table and leaned over her teacup, staring at Maggie intently. Her smile disappeared. "The blood of the Greene's is powerful. Your ancestors travelled across the ocean to come here many, many years ago. Only a short time before myself. Your family is descended from the Witches of Islandmagee, lass."_

_Maggie blinked. "Islandmagee?"_

_Florence nodded. "In Ireland. Centuries ago… though it feels like just yesterday. I knew one of your great-grandmothers: a poor beggar girl, no older than fifteen. Such a sweet thing, so powerful yet so modest. So selfless. She had many Gifts, and saw many things that no mortal should ever see. She married a boy named Greene - I still remember his bright blue eyes. He had hair as golden as the sun." She smiled in reminiscence, pausing briefly with a wistful look on her face. Then she continued solemnly, "That sweet, Gifted beggar girl fell pregnant. Luckily, she fled the country and disappeared with her golden-haired husband before she could be accused and persecuted. And she passed her Gifts on through her blood. The same blood that fills you with life now. The same blood that you will pass on to your children."_

_Maggie scoffed. "I don't believe you." There was no way this lady had really been alive that long. It just wasn't possible._

_But Florence smiled. "I know."_

"_Then why're you telling me this?"_

"_Because you need to know. You must be aware, you must be ready. Even if you don't believe it at first. You will. Eventually, you'll have no choice…"_

_Maggie shrugged indifferently. "Witches aren't real," she said. "I learned about the Salem Witch Trials - they were all regular ladies who got accused of stuff 'cause other people didn't like 'em. They weren't actually witches."_

_Florence chuckled, raising her eyebrows. "Is that what you were taught, love?"_

_Maggie nodded, though her confidence was waning at the tone of the old woman's voice._

"_You're only half right. Islandmagee had a series of trials much like Salem, and around the same time too. And like Salem… only some of the women accused were actually witches," Florence explained. _

"_Nuh-uh," Maggie argued. "I never heard about that. And NONE of those women were really witches. There's no way."_

"_I promise you, I would not lie about this. They don't teach our story to children. Look it up for yourself - though there isn't much written about the pain we suffered," Florence insisted. "Even my own documents were lost in the end. No living person knows what became of me… Until now." _

_Then she sighed sadly, bright green eyes dimming just the slightest. Her voice softened and she went on, "So many innocent women put to death for no reason other than fear from the general masses. Women that weren't guilty of anything except being turned away by society; old batty things like me who dared beg for food, the ugly, the deformed, and slow-minded girls who didn't know any better… Even those who were guilty were no more than partially guilty. We may have taken revenge upon those who wronged us, but we never worked alongside the Devil. We never wished harm upon the innocent. We merely defended ourselves. Yet we were accused, shunned, tortured, and killed all the same. Our Gifts were misunderstood and feared. And we were punished for it."_

_Maggie told herself she would go home and research these supposed Islandmagee Witch Trials. Until then, she'd have to rely on this strange old woman for all the information. And she wasn't even sure how much of it was true and how much was just dumb supersition. Or maybe this lady was just crazy and weaving tall tales for the hell of it._

_Florence took a long sip of tea and smiled across the table. "There is so very much you've yet to learn, lass. You are so blissfully ignorant, but it can only last so long before you must know the truth." Then she asked softly, "Don't you want to know what the future holds for you, sweet Maggie?"_

_Maggie stared back skeptically. "What d'you mean? Nobody can see the future. You're not supposed to. 'Cause of free will. Only God can see that."_

_Florence chuckled. "God, Lucifer… and the Gifted. We are all cursed with the knowledge of what comes next, free will be damned."_

_Maggie rolled her eyes and took a begrudging sip of tea. "So you claim yer a four-hundred-year-old witch that knew one of my ancestors, and now yer gonna try ta make me believe that witches can see the future? That YOU can see MY future? I'm almost twelve, I'm not some dumb little kid who's gonna fall fer all your spooky stories, Ms. Newton."_

_If it were anyone else in her life, this was the part where Maggie would be scolded for being rude and reminded that she's still a child who must always respect her elders._

_But the Witch of Youghal didn't do that. In fact, she smiled. And then she cackled with amusement._

"_Quite the willful wee thing, aren't yeh, lass?" Her smile grew wider. "Aye, you've got a Gift alright. I've seen more than just your future… You've seen and heard things that your dear daddy would never believe. Haven't you?"_

_Maggie's heart skipped and plummeted down to her stomach like a box of rocks. But she tried to keep a straight face, glaring across the table at Florence and pressing her lips together tightly. She did nothing to confirm or deny the old witch's guess._

_To Maggie's dismay, this seemed to be exactly the reaction Florence had been looking for. Her eyes lit up and she chuckled. "That's right, love. I know your little secret. Disembodied voices whispering to you in the night, jumping shadows out of the corner of your eye, people that beg you for help and disappear when you blink… But you can't tell anyone, can you? They would simply never understand, would they?"_

_Maggie swallowed hard. Fear was pulsing through her muscles like electricity and she could feel the blood draining from her face. How could this stranger possibly know these things?_

_It was true, she'd never told anyone about her weird little incidents. Never even dared. She knew how people reacted when you said that you saw things no one else could see and heard voices from people that weren't actually there. And it wasn't good. She'd ignored it all these years, willing it to go away. The incidents became fewer and farther between, but they didn't stop. They never stopped. Maggie had never known a moment in her life in which she didn't feel like she was being watched by someone she couldn't see. There hadn't been a single night in which she hadn't heard distant voices calling out to her in the darkness of her bedroom._

_But she'd never spoken it aloud. She hadn't even dared to write it down. She didn't want to risk making it any more real than it already was._

_Florence was even more pleased by Maggie's silence once she read the expression on her face and saw how pale she'd gone. Maggie couldn't find her voice to respond. She wanted to deny the allegations, yet a part of her… didn't._

_A part of her wanted to know more. Did this strange woman have an explanation? And if so, could it be believed?_

"_I've seen it all, lass," Florence went on after a few tense seconds of silence. "I know you. This is how it starts. You're young yet, misguided. But you must know that it is not a curse. Such a Gift only comes to those capable of bearing its weight. And you are more than capable. Those voices and those shadows and those people you didn't recognize - they were all dead, love. They were reaching out to you for help, because you are one of the very few on this earth who can see past The Veil and into The Other Side. Others cannot see past that Veil because they aren't Gifted… Do you understand?"_

"_So I can talk to ghosts? I can see dead people?" Maggie burst out, finding her voice very suddenly once she'd absorbed this new information. "Like the kid in that dumb Bruce Willis movie?"_

_Florence laughed and shook her head. "Movie? Oh no, dear. This is no picture show. This is an ancient truth that you have been denied of. Until now."_

_Maggie frowned. Her tea sat forgotten before her, one hand wrapped numbly around the cooling cup. "Why would dead people come ta me for help? I'm just a kid. I don't wanna see The Other Side. I can't help anybody."_

"_Perhaps not yet. But the dead don't know any better. They will reach out to the first living person who can hear them. And your Gift is rare. There are so very few who can hear their desperate cries for help, let alone answer them," Florence explained. _

"_Help with what? When you die, you either go ta Heaven or Hell," Maggie argued. "So why would any dead people need help?"_

_Florence chuckled, shaking her head. "Sweet, sweet girl. I know you love your western Bible, but the stories you've been told are not quite the truth. Your people believe that a great and all-knowing Eye is watching your every move, judging you each one-by-one and ticking off deeds and misdeeds. And then what, lass? Pray tell. You think you'll die and meet that omniscient Eye, shake its hand and be thanked for a life well lived? Is that what dear old daddy has taught you?"_

_The witch threw her head back and cackled so loudly that it sent a shiver down Maggie's spine._

"_Those books were not written by the Gifted," Florence went on, her amused grin faltering and fading. Her tone turned very serious, very stern. "Their authors were unable to see past The Veil. Too small-minded to comprehend the complexities of what comes next. The Afterlife can be a rather sordid affair; there are many consequences that the faithful refuse to acknowledge. Heaven and Hell are nothing more than final destinations on a long journey, and that journey doesn't end when your soul leaves the mortal world. Morality is a fickle thing - why, it's more like a never-ending game played between the Creator and the Devil - and because of that, so very few receive a one-way ticket to their final resting place. Some would say the journey has only just begun after one's final breath."_

_Maggie couldn't really dispute that. She had no evidence to support her argument and no reason to disagree. She'd always had an inkling that the Bible was leaving a lot of stuff out, that life and everything afterwards wasn't quite so cut and dried. The Witch of Youghal was simply affirming her long-held suspicions._

'_Finally,' Maggie thought with relief. 'Someone who can answer the real questions.'_

"_Okay, so I'm s'posed ta help these people? And that'll get me into Heaven?"_

"_No, no. Not like that. Aren't you listening, child? It doesn't work that way. I'm not telling you this because you have a duty to uphold, nor do I wish to curse you with the impossible goal of shooting straight into Eternal Paradise. These souls may ask you for help, but you are not required to answer. This Gift is yours and yours alone, Maggie. The choices are your own to make. The life you live will be entirely up to you… Regardless, you have a right to know about the Gifts you've been bestowed in this life."_

_Florence paused and smiled, taking a leisurely sip of tea before loudly smacking her lips and adding, "The Creator and His brother love to play games. But how would the game be fair if you weren't aware of the rules?"_

_Maggie shrugged indifferently. "Life's not fair." Her parents had told her that more times than she could count and she'd grown into the habit of repeating it._

_Florence smirked. "And neither is Death, my dear. But that doesn't mean you can't level the playing field every now and again. We all must take a little more for ourselves from time to time lest we risk being overlooked."_

_Maggie had to admit, the old woman made a decent point. Yet she still couldn't be sure whether she should believe her or not. What if she was talking out the side of her neck, like Daddy had warned her that people were fond of doing? What if she was trying to take advantage somehow? Just because she thought Maggie was some naive little girl who'd fall for tall tales?_

_Though the most terrifying thought filling Maggie's head asked, 'And what if it's true?'_

"_So what if I don't wanna use my Gift?" She asked uncertainly. "What if I jus' wanna be normal and I don't wanna hear dead people anymore? Or help them ever?"_

_Florence shrugged. "That is the most important decision you will make for many years, sweet Maggie. If you truly do not wish to bear the heavy weight of your power, then it will fade away as you enter womanhood. The Gift will begin to diminish at the appearance of your first moon's blood."_

_Maggie scrunched up her nose. "You mean when I get my first period?"_

"_Yes, whatever it is you call it nowadays. The mark of your entry into womanhood. As I said, your life is yours to do with as you wish. I only intend for you to be aware." _

_Florence must've seen the doubt creeping across Maggie's face at that because she leaned in a bit, green eyes wide and twinkling from across the table. She lowered her voice as if she were telling a secret and said, "Your baby sister will need your guidance one day. And it will be up to you whether you choose to help her… or turn your back on her plight."_

_Maggie froze, swallowing hard. "Beth? What - is she cursed like me? Did she get some lousy Gift, too?"_

_Florence smiled secretively and replied, "Not cursed - but perhaps she did inherit a Gift. Only time will tell for certain."_

"_Well, of course I'll help her. She's my sister. But how d'you know she'll need my help? How old will we be when she needs it?"_

_Florence kept smiling. "That, I cannot tell you. Everything will happen as it is meant to happen. She may not need your help exactly - not like the dead who call out to you at night - but you will be the only one she can turn to for proper guidance. For the strength that can only be found within unconditional love. As sisters, your souls are bonded for eternity. However, it will be entirely up to you to decide how that bond strengthens or weakens over the course of your lives. As the firstborn, you are the leader. Wee Beth will always follow… whether she does so consciously or not."_

_Maggie frowned and glanced away, mulling over the words in her head. It wasn't a whole hell of a lot different from what her parents and the rest of her family had been telling her since Annette found out that Beth was coming along. Yet it felt so much more important. So much more meaningful. In a way that Maggie didn't quite understand, though she could feel its weight within her chest._

_Her gaze flitted back up to meet Florence's and she asked, "So what's in my future? OUR future? If you can see so much, then what'd you see that hasn't happened yet?"_

_Florence chuckled and wagged a finger at Maggie. "If only it were that simple, lass. I am permitted to see many of the workings behind the curtain, and I have read various versions of the script… yet I dare not intervene with the actors on stage."_

_Maggie's frown deepened and the doubt crept back into her features, more prominent than before. But Florence didn't appear discouraged. She merely smiled knowingly, a spark of mischief coming to life in her green eyes._

"_You have a crush," she said. "A classmate named Bradley - isn't that right?"_

"_Ew, no!" Maggie spat, immediately growing defensive. "Bradley's dumb, just like all the other boys. All he cares about is bugs an' dirt an' riding his stupid bike."_

_Florence laughed. "Aye, and all you care about is bugs and dirt and riding your horses. It's okay, love. There are no secrets with me. I see all and I judge not."_

_Maggie shut her mouth tightly, narrowing her eyes across the table and trying to figure out how this woman had learned the name of her secret crush. She hadn't told anyone - not even her stupid diary. Boys were a waste of time, in her opinion. They all seemed really annoying and gross and a few of them always made fun of her for having short hair and not being girly enough. Bradley didn't like her back anyway, so it didn't matter. She just thought he was kinda cute, that's all. And he always picked her first for his team when they played kickball._

"_Yes, handsome young Bradley will be quite the heartbreaker one day," Florence went on, that smile still plastered to her face. "But so will you. I've seen the man that becomes your husband and the father of your children." She chuckled at a joke that only she knew. "He looks nothing like wee Bradley, that's for sure."_

_Maggie couldn't help herself. She burst out, "I'm gonna have kids when I grow up? And be married? To who?"_

_Florence quirked a thick gray eyebrow and shook her head. "If I tell you, there will be no fun in it. Wouldn't you say? Ladies shouldn't waste their lives seeking out some fabled soulmate. He will come to you in due time - after many painful losses and valuable lessons - and the reward will be more than worth the wait."_

_Maggie groaned, rolling her eyes. Admittedly, she was a little disappointed. "I knew you were makin' it up. You probably can't see the future at all. Nobody can."_

_The Witch of Youghal cackled before taking a long sip of tea and setting down the empty cup before her. She glanced down meaningfully at the residue left behind, a mysterious smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, weathered fingers curling around the handle. Her eyes flicked up and locked onto Maggie's once more. Her lips were still quirked into a smirk that made Maggie feel… uneasy._

"_I see much and more, lass," Florence said. She paused, maintaining intense eye contact with Maggie. Then she slowly explained, "A splintered trail strewn with damaged hearts. A great loss. A toe-dip into the waters of the Underworld. A lifelong Visitor reborn… _

_For your sister, I glimpsed a strange man: angry and broken, but hopeful all the same. This man will turn her life upside-down. He is caked in shards of shattered glass yet his soul glows bright and pure, clinging desperately to the remains of the man he is meant to be. There will be an ominous and malicious presence following closely behind him. He will be searching for a light amongst the darkness and he will find it lying within the Greene Farm. Throughout two moons, the Gifted and the Damned will walk side-by-side on this mortal plane._

_As for you, sweet Maggie… I've seen the simple and mundane life you wish to lead. A happiness and fulfillment in stability that can only be attained through your own determination. You will reach it, for you are capable of all things great and small. Have no doubts in yourself, my dear. But you will be alone for much longer than what is comfortable; your naive and soft heart will harden in due time. As hearts like yours are prone to do. You will build a wall that protects you, though it may crumble. As it should. And Death will follow in your wake. There is nothing you can do to stop this; Death will haunt you with its uncertainty, as it has haunted so many before you."_

_Maggie blinked but her mouth was too bone-dry to attempt a retort. She was still clutching the cup of tea, though it had gone cold and she had no intentions of taking another sip. _

_Florence read the dumbstruck and slightly fearful expression on Maggie's face and put up a finger as if to contradict herself, "It's not so bad as it sounds, lass. Don't fret. Death's shadow is a curse that lies even with those that possess no Gift. There are some who call it 'philosophy' or 'existentialism.' Whatever you'd like to classify it as, it is simply a part of living. Another price to pay in the game we are all playing… The price we pay for our understanding of life's meaning."_

_Maggie nodded meekly, trying to follow along. She thought she understood, but she also had a lot of really stupid questions. And she was too afraid to ask at this point. She didn't want this wise old woman to think she was too feeble-minded to comprehend what she was being told._

_Florence smiled once again and spoke with a bit more cheer as she added, "I saw a head full of black hair, thick and shiny. Fair skin. A nervous smile. He is softened and vulnerable on the outside, but within lies a courageous and gleaming soul. A great warrior hidden behind a meek life. There will come a day when you receive an unexpected visitor. They will offer you a delivery that you did not request. And this man will make his entrance into your life. Though he will be pushed away forever if you deny passage through the thick wall that you'll have built. There is an irreplicable connection to be found, but only if you allow yourself to be connected."_

_Maggie licked her lips. She didn't even care that her face had gone bright red. Her voice came out cracked when she asked, "My future husband?"_

_Florence shrugged, though her smile remained. "Aye, that'll be for you to decide, Maggie dear. I mustn't say more as I've learned my fair share of lessons from revealing too much to willful folk such as you. Some things are meant to be, but more often… they are no more than chance."_

_Maggie sighed, disappointed._

_She was still trying to wrap her head around everything she'd just been told. Should she believe it? Could she even remember it all? The stuff Florence had said about Beth and some strange guy showing up - it felt important somehow. Maybe she should race home and write it down before she forgot all the details._

_Who was she kidding? It was already burned into her brain. She wasn't sure she could ever forget it, even if she wanted to._

_But before Maggie could say anything, Florence's face fell and she quickly shoved her chair away from the table. She stood up, grabbing her cane and hobbling over to the window above the sink as fast as she could. Then she shook her head and tsked. Maggie stood up, alarmed. She opened her mouth to ask what was wrong but Florence turned back and looked at her, frowning._

"_Your father knows you've wandered too far," she said. "He's looking for you. It's time to go home, Maggie Greene."_

_Maggie shook her head defiantly and argued, "No - it's fine. I'll get back soon enough, it doesn't matter 'cause I'm already grounded. Tell me more about my future. Surely there's somethin' else you can tell me. So I can be aware, so I can know - like you said I should be. Like you said I have a RIGHT to be."_

_Florence's eyes dimmed and she replied sadly, "No, love. I cannot. Our time together is well past finished. You must run back home before your father begins to worry. And remember: you must never speak of the things we discussed."_

"_That's not fair!" Maggie pouted, stamping her foot on the faded linoleum floor. "You wanted me ta believe you and now I do, but you don't wanna tell me anything else? What about this stupid game I'm supposedly playing? Aren't I s'posed ta know the rules?"_

_Florence sighed and shook her head, taking a couple of hobbled steps toward Maggie. "I've told you everything you need to know. The rest is up to you - and that is far more fairness than most will ever receive. Remember this: you cannot carve out the road alone, you must follow the path that is built by many. Make your choices wisely, sweet girl. You are meant to be here for more reasons than you could ever imagine."_

_Maggie was about to argue some more, about to clench her hands into fists and stamp her foot even louder. But then she blinked._

_And the next thing she knew, she was standing in the middle of the road beneath the bright afternoon sunlight. Florence Newton's house was to her right, but it was different. It looked absolutely nothing like the home Maggie had just entered, the home she'd been driving past for the last several years._

_It was dilapidated and crumbling to pieces, abandoned and condemned. There was weathered yellow Caution tape draped around the porch, flapping in the wind at the sides of the house. All of the water-stained windows were shattered. The roof was partially collapsed inward. The porch was so rotted that it couldn't have been possible for anyone to walk across it. Not even Maggie._

_She went home and got scolded by her parents for wandering off too far. But she didn't ask about the strange old woman's house. She just went to her room and wrote down everything she could remember being told. Then she stashed the pages beneath a loose floorboard in her bedroom. She didn't need to be told not to repeat what the old woman had said; Maggie had already vowed to herself that she would never speak a word of it aloud. To anyone._

_And when she looked up the Witches of Islandmagee on the Internet, she found that all the stories matched up with Florence's… As did the story that was recorded for Florence Newton herself._

_Florence Newton, who was last known to have been alive in 1661 and was assumed to have been executed. Florence Newton, whose documents had been lost. Florence Newton, who had been accused of being a witch nearly four centuries ago. Florence Newton, who Maggie had just sat down with over a cup of tea._

_Florence Newton… who suddenly disappeared into thin air. Just as she'd done in the 1600s._

_A few months later, Maggie overheard Hershel and Annette talking about the 'odd duck' that had lived a few miles down the road. They had no idea what had become of her, and they still didn't know her name. They were baffled by the appearance of her house - how it had become so decrepit in such a short amount of time. When was the last time they'd driven by? Six months ago? Nine? A year? They laughed it off and attributed it to their busy lives, assuring themselves that they simply hadn't been paying enough attention._

"_I wonder if she passed away," Hershel pondered sadly._

"_Bless her heart," Annette whispered. "She must have. She looked so unwell."_

_After that, Maggie pulled out all her secret pages from beneath the loose floorboard and burned them. And she vowed that she would never think about the Witch of Youghal or the bullshit she'd spouted again._

_Because it was all just old wives' tales. Maggie knew that now. Her first period arrived the day after her weird meeting with the old woman. And from then on, the voices and the ghosts and all that other crap that had always haunted her - it withered and faded until it disappeared completely. Eventually, she managed to almost forget about all those incidents. They were nothing more than old memories shoved to the very back of her mind._

_And Maggie went on to live her life. Exactly the way she wanted to live it._

_With no dead people or lousy Gifts involved._

**to be continued...**

* * *

**A/N: **Huge thanks to Wikipedia for all my info on Florence Newton, the Islandmagee witch trial, and in the caul/caul births.


	25. The American Dream (or 400 Years Without

**The American Dream (or 400 Years Without Improvement)**

Merle, who'd been quiet for far longer than normal, was the first to break through Beth's haze of shock.

"Holy fuckin' shit."

He was on the edge of his seat, eyes wide and voice breathless with disbelief. Then he cackled nervously. "Y'all are jus' two ghost-seein' peas in a weirdo pod, ain'tcha?"

Beth blinked rapidly and tried to comprehend everything that had just come from her sister's mouth. Maggie sat before her, a plain expression on her face, teary eyes searching Beth for acceptance and understanding.

Merle huffed out a breath, a half-chuckle mixed with a squeak of awe. "Jesus _tits_, blondie. It was yer fuckin' sister the whole time! This overbearing bitch got the same goddamn Gift as you! An' here I was thinkin' the ol' Swamp Witch was jus' teasin' ya 'bout yer dead mama. Christ almighty!"

Beth nearly laughed out loud. But it caught in her throat and died just as quickly as her smile faded. She shook her head, staring at Maggie in utter disbelief.

"You gotta be shittin' me," she muttered. The words escaped before she could stop them.

Aw hell, she'd spent too much time with Daryl. _And_ Merle. That wasn't how she'd _wanted_ to react.

Maggie smirked in good humor and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear awkwardly, her face still pale as she glanced away and shook her head. "Bethy, I - "

But Beth quickly interjected, "No - I mean, it was you. It was you the _whole_ _time_." She took a deep breath and straightened her back. "That guy I talked to yesterday - the Witch - he had this moment where somebody spoke _through_ him. It kinda sounded like… like _her_."

Maggie raised her eyebrows. "Florence Newton?"

Beth nodded. "She called me 'the child born twice.' She told me ta look into my home. Into my heart. I didn't think it would mean… _this_. _You_. I didn't think I'd actually get any answers. Especially not from myown_ sister_."

She huffed out a soft laugh and it seemed to break the tension immediately. Maggie chuckled and her shoulders relaxed.

"I know what you mean," she assured. "I thought I was _crazy_. Fer a long time, I thought I'd imagined the whole thing. I never thought it would end up meanin' anything fer you, Beth. If I'd known…"

Beth shrugged. She shared a look with her sister that said, _how could either of us have ever known?_

"But," Maggie frowned, a puzzled expression forming on her face. "How d'you still _have_ your Gift? Did you know about it before it had a chance to fade away? Or was it different fer you somehow?"

Beth shook her head and glanced away, reminded of the shame she'd felt as her dark secret had been laid out before Daryl and Merle and Morgan. It wasn't like her sister didn't already know - hell, she'd been the one holding a towel around Beth's bleeding wrist while Shawn drove them to the ER. But it somehow felt more shameful, more stupid, now that she knew exactly how much damage that decision had caused. She was a little scared that Maggie would use it as another opportunity to remind Beth of how immature and selfish she'd been to do such a thing. Though they hadn't actually talked about it in years.

But before she could explain, Maggie was speaking softly - tentatively. "Was it… your wrist? When you thought you wanted ta kill yerself?"

Beth met her big sister's teary gaze with trepidation. She nodded slowly. "The guy I talked to yesterday - the Witch - said it was 'cause of how I died before I was born. He said I've been steppin' back and forth between here and The Other Side basically my whole life." Maggie was clearly listening, which gave Beth the confidence to go on. "I guess it went away like yers did, but when I had - my _accident…_ it sparked it back up, pretty much. He said I took a… a _leap_ to The Other Side. An' it's been like that ever since. I jus' didn't realize it till a dead guy showed up in the woods and asked me for help."

Maggie pursed her lips and glanced down at her hands, wiping away a stray tear before raising her head again. "_A splintered trail strewn with damaged hearts_ \- that's our family, I s'pose, me an' Dad losing my mother; _a great loss_ \- that was Annette's cancer, _our_ mom dying; _a toe-dip into the waters of the Underworld_, _a lifelong Visitor reborn_ \- that was your accident…" She huffed out a breath of astonishment. "You needing my guidance an' me choosin' whether to turn my back on your plight or not… The Witch of Youghal was right. About _everything_. I jus' didn't know how ta make any sense of it till now."

"You really didn't know?" Beth asked softly. "You had no _idea_ that we both inherited Gifts?"

Maggie sighed and looked away. She almost looked ashamed. She always hated admitting that she was wrong, or that she didn't know something. But this was different. In a way, Beth already knew the answer. She just wanted to hear it out loud.

"I think I did," Maggie said. "Deep down. But I didn't _want_ to know. It felt like a curse to me, and the way Florence talked made it sound like life or death. She said that man would _turn your life upside-down_. I didn't want that for you, Bethy. I just wanted you to be normal an' happy… She said 'only time would tell' and I-I thought time _did_ tell. I thought maybe, just maybe… whatever she saw about you was bullshit. Maybe she misinterpreted it. Or maybe if I kept an eye on you, kept you on the right track, none of it would ever matter. Like maybe I coulda proved her _wrong_ despite everything else."

Then she laughed, which startled Beth. She reached out and playfully nudged Beth's knee. "What was I s'posed to do - ask you if you could hear _dead people_ talkin' to you?"

Beth smiled and felt a small laugh bubbling up in her throat. It burst from her lips and she shook her head, grinning.

Maggie's smile faltered and she said, "I wanted you ta trust me, Beth. I didn't want you to be _afraid_ of me, or think I was crazy or somethin'. I just wanted ta make sure you'd come to me before anybody else if you ever needed help… That's what sisters are _supposed_ to do. Right?"

Beth felt fresh tears welling up in her eyes and she blinked them away, quickly nodding in agreement.

Merle ruined the moment, though: "_Ga-a-ay_! The fuck is this, some kinda Lifetime movie?"

Beth pressed her lips tightly together and forced herself to ignore him, keeping her attention focused on Maggie.

"I was scared ta tell anybody," Beth admitted. "I thought you'd be hauling me off to a mental institution. When I was little, I tried ta talk to Dad about it, but he always said it was - "

"Old wives' tales," Maggie finished for her.

Beth nodded.

Maggie frowned and said, "Dad wouldn't get it. He's got his faith an' that's all he's ever known. The whole damn thing came from _his_ blood, but he'd never admit it… just like Florence said. People like him would only be _scared_ of what they can't understand. And fear makes people do awful things. There was lotsa times - when you were little - that made me think, maybe…"

Her voice drifted off wistfully for a long moment. Beth furrowed her brow. "Maybe what?"

Maggie cleared her throat and went on, "Maybe you _did_ have a Gift like me. Maybe the Witch was right about you needin' my guidance. You used ta talk to empty corners and bare ceilings. When you were a baby, a toddler, a dumb little kid - every single night, I could hear you giggling an' babbling like somebody was in yer room with you. You always seemed ta be distracted by somethin' - somethin' nobody else could see. You'd have some crazy story about somebody we'd never heard of every mornin' at breakfast. And I heard you askin' Mom an' Dad some really weird questions a couple times… They said you had a wild imagination. So I believed 'em. I jus' thought Florence was wrong, or that she'd never been real to begin with. I thought maybe _I_ had a wild imagination, too."

She paused, worrying her lower lip and glancing away for a moment. Beth was barely blinking as she listened.

Maggie's voice lowered and she continued, "I did a research project in high school - I traced the Greene family all the way back to Ireland. I found documents for the Gifted girl that Florence told me about. There's records from when she came to New England with that blond Greene boy she met in Islandmagee - they came to the Colonies, decades before the country was even a real country - and there's birth certificates for all five of the kids they ended up having together. One of those kids had a kid that moved down south, and one of _their_ kids bought this farm an' built this house. I couldn't find the girl's maiden name, but it was _her_. There's no doubt in my mind that she was the girl Florence told me about. She was only sixteen when she came to America, still pregnant with her first baby." She paused, her face going stiff and resentful. Her tone resonated the same resent as she explained, "But when I showed it all to Dad, he said I should leave them out of my research; he said they were crazy devil worshippers, that they'd fled horrible crimes back in Ireland… They were basically a big shameful stain on the Greene name. That's what his granddaddy told him, and his granddaddy's granddaddy before that. So I just… put it all away. 'Cause it made me feel like I actually mighta been _insane_. And then you went through puberty an' you never, not _once_, ever came to me about any weird stuff, any ghosts or dead people or witches. Nothing that made me think you could've had a Gift."

The corner of her mouth tugged into a bitter smile and teary green eyes flicked up to meet Beth's. She huffed out a humorless laugh and concluded, "I guess I thought we were all in the clear. I thought we'd dodged a bullet or somethin'."

Beth sighed sadly. "I screwed it all up by bein' a selfish brat."

Maggie's brow creased. "What? No, you didn't screw _anything_ up, Beth."

"If I hadn't been stupid an' tried ta kill myself, this lousy Gift would've gone away and _stayed_ gone," Beth argued.

Maggie rolled her eyes, then reached out and clasped one of Beth's hands between both of hers. "Shut up. Look, I know I'm not the type ta say some cliché crap like this, but I mean it: everything happens for a _reason_."

Merle barked out a laugh and Beth stifled a teasing smile of her own.

Maggie shot her a glare and reiterated, "It's _true_, okay?" Her expression softened. "Obviously you were meant to keep your Gift. And for whatever reason, you were meant to be the one to help these Dixon guys - even the dead one."

Beth quirked a brow and looked back at her sister with skepticism. Maggie sighed and shook her head, clasping Beth's hand a little tighter.

"I'm serious," she said firmly. "Listen, I thought all that crap about my future husband was made up. I thought it was _impossible_ for her to know. But even after a decade with all that shit Ms. Newton said at the back of my head, there was _no. way._ I could've seen Glenn coming. I didn't realize that it was exactly how she'd told me it would be till we were already dating…"

Beth recalled how Maggie and her new fiancé, Glenn, had met: completely by chance. He'd been a pizza delivery boy who happened to mistakenly knock on her door instead of the apartment on the next floor up. From then, it had taken several weeks for Maggie to even admit they were seeing each other. And another few months before she'd bring him home to meet Dad and Shawn. She'd always been stubborn and unwilling to admit that she had romantic feelings for someone. She'd always been a little wary of letting her boyfriends get too close, letting them see her vulnerability. She'd always seemed put off by the prospect of trust and intimacy and commitment.

Beth couldn't help but scoff, a light blush rushing up her neck to fill her cheeks as she quickly diverted her gaze to the comforter beneath her. "What're you tryin' ta say, that me an' Daryl were _meant_ to come together or somethin'?"

Maggie shrugged nonchalantly.

"'Cause that's _stupid_," Beth continued. "I don't know _what_ the purpose is fer me bein' the one to hear his brother and help him, but I know it's _nothing_ like you an' Glenn."

Merle laughed loudly. "'S _that_ what she's implyin'? Good lord, somebody redirect this bitch. She ain't the type ta see the forest fer the trees, huh?" He laughed again, more harshly this time. "Now I see where ya get it, blondie. Both'a y'all are jus' wound up in catchin' men. No wonder yer so fuckin' lost."

Beth clenched her jaw and ignored him.

But Maggie was shaking her head. "No, that's _not_ what I'm tryin' ta say. It's not like I think y'all are _soulmates_ or somethin'."

_Thank God,_ Beth let out a breath of relief. _I'm definitely not telling you about the 'intertwined fates' thing._

"It's just… She was right about _everything_," Maggie went on. "The simple life I always wanted, the fear of losin' everything just like I lost my mom, just like we lost Annette - Death has haunted me the whole way, exactly like she _said_ it would. But I'm determined. Like she said. I refused to let any of that stop me. There's things that are meant to be, but most of it is purely _chance_. It took a long time for that to make sense. But I _get it_ now: we have to make our stupid mistakes and learn our lessons in order fer everything to play out like it's supposed to."

Beth nodded, absorbing these words and letting them roll around in her head. She felt more strongly reassured by her sister's confidence. Maybe the Witch of Youghal _was_ right. Maybe Morgan was, too. Maybe their Gift wasn't such a curse after all. Or maybe she just had to figure out how to turn it into a proper blessing.

"You can't _stop_ this stuff, Bethy," Maggie insisted. "And you can't carve out the road alone; you have to follow the path that's been built by many. Florence Newton knew what she was talking about. And if she spoke through _your_ Witch, that means you need to believe him. Take whatever he said to heart before it's too late… Even if it makes you feel crazy."

Beth chewed on her lower lip thoughtfully, studying her sister's face. She couldn't remember ever seeing such pure honesty in Maggie's expression before, or hearing her speak in such a poignant sense.

Maggie sighed sadly and squeezed Beth's hand again. Her tone became apologetic. "I'm so sorry, Beth. You must've felt so alone yer whole _life_. I should've told you, I should've done something. I should've paid more attention and been the leader you needed… I should've been a better sister."

Beth quickly shook her head and reached her other hand over to place it atop her sister's. "No, stop. You didn't do anythin' wrong - I wouldn't have told anyone about that either. Not even _you_." She chuckled and Maggie smirked. "You told me now. That's what matters. And you don't think I'm crazy or delusional or on drugs… or that I should walk away from it."

Maggie retracted her hands, lips pressed into a thin line. She slowly shook her head. "No, I don't think you should… But I know you _can_. I think it's your _choice_. Not an obligation."

Beth swallowed hard and looked Maggie up and down questioningly. "What d'you mean?"

Maggie sighed. "Don't get me wrong - it might be meant to be. Yeah, all of this happened for a reason and there's some kinda purpose for yer Gift… But what Florence told _me_ applies to _you_, too: these souls might ask you for help, but you're not _required_ to answer. This Gift is yours and yours alone, and so are all the choices you make. You can live your life however you want, you don't _owe_ it to anybody else. Even if you feel like you do."

Beth's frown deepened and she knew Maggie could see the uncertainty on her face. The guilt.

It was the same thing Morgan had been telling her. Yet now she was much more inclined to listen. Because Morgan didn't _know _her - not like Maggie knew her.

"Bethy," she coaxed. "You're such a _good girl._ You've always wanted to help people - and that's yer biggest flaw. You put everybody else before _yourself_. That's what terrifies me the most about knowin' you have this Gift: you're not the type to remember that it's a _choice_. You're so goddamn selfless and kind-hearted that you'll end up sacrificing _everything_ just for the chance to help somebody else… and then what? What's left for _you_?"

Beth blinked and shook her head. She responded without hesitation, "It's never _been_ about what's left for me. Isn't that the whole point?"

Maggie raised her eyebrows meaningfully and gave Beth a sharp look. "That's exactly _my_ point. Didn't you listen to what the Witch of Youghal told me? We're all stuck in a warped game that's bein' played between two forces we could never hope to intervene with; this shit isn't even _fair_."

Beth interjected, "What - you don't believe in God anymore? In His plan? Or any of that stuff we've had faith in our whole lives?"

Maggie scoffed, growing defensive. "Of course I do. Don't be stupid." But she immediately softened and said, "It's not a case of believin' in God or-or not havin' _faith_ that the Good Lord has it all in His hands. It's just… you can't take it all at face value, ya know?"

Beth shook her head. She _didn't_ know. She was more unsure now than she'd ever been. To learn that the God she'd always loved and trusted may very well be nothing more than an indifferent witness to a cruel game being played by all of humanity - it had her questioning all sorts of things. But from the sound of it, Maggie had been questioning all these things for much, much longer.

Maggie paused, contemplating her next words. Then she slowly and patiently explained, "I've been tryin' ta make sense of it fer as long as I can remember. It's not that I don't genuinely believe what Daddy's always told us, or that I love and trust God any less. I know He has a plan for us all… I just don't think any of it is simple enough fer us to _comprehend_. Not in _this_ life, or on this plane of existence. I think whatever we do with our time here matters more than anythin' else. I think we should just try ta be good people for the sake of loving one another, not 'cause we think it'll earn us a reward after we die… And at the same time, I think it's all _bullshit_. I think every awful thing that happens to good people is _bullshit_, I think God can be a real big _dick_ sometimes, and I think the Bible is all screwed-up because millions of egotistical men got their hands on it and wrote what they _wanted_ to write."

Beth raised her eyebrows. She couldn't say she was surprised to hear this opinion. It wasn't something Maggie would ever say to their dad or anyone else in the family, but Beth certainly understood where she was coming from.

Maggie stared into Beth's eyes and continued firmly, "We've been raised to believe that we're s'posed to give an' give an' give without taking. Which is fine - it's honorable. We _shouldn't_ want more for ourselves, we shouldn't be selfish. We should always wanna give and help others… But when it comes to somethin' like this? A Gift that literally pushes us into the middle of stuff that has absolutely _nothing_ to do with us? That's not the same thing. Sure, it's honorable to wanna help; I know you think it's your God-given duty or somethin', like this is your _calling_ somehow. But it's not. You're _more_ than just this stupid Gift. You don't have to tear yourself into pieces just to make sure someone else doesn't suffer."

Beth glanced away uncomfortably. She remembered what Pastor Tee had told her:_ "God doesn't bring us to anything that He doesn't think we can handle. Every single person has a purpose, a power."_

She wanted to believe it. She _did_ believe it. But just because she _could_ handle it… did that mean she should _have_ to? Just because it was her power, did it have to be her _purpose_, too?

Maggie waited until Beth had met her gaze again, then she added, "We have to stop and think about ourselves every now and then. Otherwise, we'll be completely overlooked. We aren't _doormats_, Beth. You have a _Gift_, not a _curse_."

Well, she had a point. And it wasn't entirely different from what she'd been telling Beth for her whole life. Maggie had always been headstrong and certain. She'd always been fearless and demanding, and she'd tried to instill that same courage into her baby sister. It was simply stated in a separate context now, framed in a much different sense. Nonetheless, the message remained the same.

"We don't _get_ a whole lotta choices once we're born female. We didn't four hundred years ago and we _still_ don't, even now," Maggie concluded matter-of-factly. "But this? This is a _choice_. We don't owe anyone _shit_, Beth. Not God, not a Witch, not a dead person, and sure as hell not some _Dixon_ boy."

"We fucking _get_ _it_," Merle chimed in, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest and an annoyed expression on his face. "Yer both strong, independent women who don't need no men. _Whatever_! You'll both end up lonely old cat ladies with a collection of vibrators, what-the-fuck-ever. That don't mean ya can't help a guy save his brother from bein' fucking _murdered_. Or did'ja forget about that already, blondie?" He cackled coldly. "Shit, it's a _choice _alright - I'll tell ya what. Ain't no choice _I'd_ wanna make, though."

He was right. God help her, but Beth had to acknowledge that Merle had a _point_. The unseen weight upon her shoulders seemed to gain another ton, causing her to slouch in defeat.

Maggie must've noticed the way Beth's eyes flicked to the area behind her head, how she'd given a meaningful look towards what appeared to be thin air. Merle was sucking on his teeth, the displeasure palpable in his body language. It made Beth's muscles tense up uncomfortably.

Maggie paused and glanced over her shoulder precariously. "Is he here now? Daryl's dead brother?" She frowned. "Is that who you've been talkin' to?"

Beth nodded. "Yeah. He's sittin' in the desk chair. I try to ignore him, but… he can get pretty annoying."

Merle barked out an objection: "Oh, _I_ can get annoying? _Hah_!"

"But I have ta help him. There's no gettin' rid of him till I know Daryl's soul is safe."

Maggie hummed thoughtfully. "_The Gifted and the Damned walking side-by-side_… That must be you an' Merle an' Daryl," she said. "So that was true, too."

Beth shrugged uncertainly. "I guess so. It… would make sense."

And it actually would. Even the part about the broken man finding a light within the Greene Farm. That was the scariest realization.

Maggie sighed. "I jus' don't know how much help I can be since I let my Gift fade away. I can't even see this Merle guy - I mean, I can _feel_ him. But I can't _hear_ him."

Beth furrowed her brow. "You can _feel_ him?"

Maggie nodded. "Yeah. Like… some kinda leftover sixth sense, I guess. I know he's here. I know he's close. I could feel him hangin' around you yesterday. But then it was normal when I talked to you last night, so I thought it was just my imagination. Did he leave fer the night or somethin'?"

Beth nodded in affirmation. "Yeah. He came back before I woke up."

"I could tell," Maggie said. "He's a heavy presence."

Merle barked out a laugh. "Damn right I am, sugartits. My _dick's _awful heavy, too - wanna feel that?"

Beth sighed. "Yer so lucky you can't hear him."

Maggie narrowed her eyes. "What kinda stuff does he say to you?"

Beth shrugged, unable to repress a sneer of disgust. "Lotsa stuff."

But before Maggie could ask again, there was a knock at the door and a familiar voice calling out from the other side.

"Babe, you in there?"

It was Glenn. Maggie turned toward the door excitedly and called back, "Yeah, come in!"

The door opened and Glenn peeked his head into the bedroom. He smiled when he saw Maggie, then waved to Beth in greeting.

Merle laughed. "'S this the fiancé? Ya never mentioned yer sister had the yellow fever!"

Beth pursed her lips and withheld a scolding retort.

"Hey - you guys comin' down for breakfast? Your dad's about ta cook the eggs," Glenn said. Then he noticed the sisters' red-rimmed eyes and the serious expression on Beth's face. His brow furrowed. "Is everything okay? Did I interrupt?"

Maggie quickly stood up from the bed. "No, we were just talkin'. Tell Daddy we'll be down in a minute."

Glenn shrugged. "Alright. See ya down there."

He turned and headed for the stairs. Maggie waited until he was out of earshot before glancing back at Beth and reaching out a hand to help her off the bed.

"C'mon," she instructed. "We'll talk more about this after breakfast."

"I'm supposed ta call Daryl after breakfast," Beth said. "We - uh, we have plans."

Maggie quirked a brow curiously. "Plans… to save his soul?"

Beth nodded sheepishly.

"Whatever it is, I'm sure it can wait another hour or two," Maggie said. "Yer not goin' anywhere with that Dixon guy again till I know _exactly_ what y'all are gettin' up to."

There was no point in arguing. Beth already knew she'd never win.

**to be continued...**

* * *

**A/N: **Don't Make Me Haunt You has been nominated for a 2019 Moonshine Award :) Thank you to everyone who's reading and enjoying!


	26. On a Scale of Greene To Dixon

**On a Scale of Greene To Dixon**

Breakfast at the Greene's table was a peaceful and pleasant affair—for the most part. Beth sat next to Shawn with Maggie and Glenn across from them and their dad occupying the head of the table. Hershel served them all pancakes, eggs, bacon, and fresh coffee. They sat and ate leisurely, burning through pot after pot of coffee, talking and joking and catching up on all the happenings of Glenn and Maggie's busy city life, the gossip around town, the recent events amongst the farm. Even after all the food was gone, they remained around the table, conversing for nearly an hour while sipping coffee.

Beth was worried that she and Maggie's shared secret would create an awkward tension between them, yet once she was sitting with her family and smiling and laughing, she nearly forgot all about it. Only _nearly_ because Merle was still in the room, disappearing occasionally when he would grow bored only to pop back up again and make a callous remark in Beth's ear. She was getting better and better at tuning him out, though. (It was somewhere around the fifth or sixth racist joke about Asians that she managed to block out his scratchy voice altogether. He was furious about being ignored but didn't make any attempts to leave, as she'd hoped he might.)

She almost wished she'd gone to Maggie sooner. She couldn't help wondering how differently things may have turned out if she'd only known that her big sister was holding the same dark secret inside for all these years. Then again, it didn't matter. She had her sister's support now, when she needed it the very most. And that had already done wonders for her sense of hope. The weight upon her back didn't feel quite so impossibly heavy now; the long and treacherous road that lay ahead didn't seem nearly as difficult to navigate. Because if everything fell apart, at least she'd still have Maggie there to lean on—someone to go to for advice who wasn't a witch or a ghost or a psychic. Someone who actually knew Beth's life and knew _Beth_. If there was anyone who'd ever been able to shake some sense into Beth, or shove some much-needed courage down her throat, it was Maggie.

They'd always been a little more connected to one another than Shawn or Annette or their father, and now Beth understood why. They really _did_ share an eternal bond. They both carried the same curse that had been thrust upon them before they'd even taken their first breaths; the Greene blood ran strong and sure through their veins.

They weren't just blessed. They were _Gifted_. Something that no one else in their family could ever understand.

A text message from Daryl arrived around 8:45. Beth was still sitting at the table and sipping coffee while Glenn talked about one of his coworkers. She didn't want to be rude so she kept her phone in her lap, hidden by the table, and discreetly looked down to read: _Got a hold of Rick but he's busy till lunch._

She felt Merle at her back before she heard him. "'S that Daryl?"

She pursed her lips and tilted the phone screen so Merle could see it over her shoulder, then she quickly typed out a response: _Do you want to meet up with him then? I'm busier with family this morning than I thought I'd be but I should be able to slip away by lunch. _She hit Send and Merle scoffed.

"You gonna sit around all goddamn mornin' gossiping with yer sister? We got more important shit ta deal with, don'tcha think?"

Beth rolled her eyes and resisted the urge to shoot a glare over her shoulder. She tucked her phone away and returned to the conversation at the table, finishing her fourth cup of coffee. Shawn began talking about the steer that got loose and wandered all the way into town last month.

"Ugh, if I gotta hear one more stupid fuckin' story about some cow, I'm gonna kill myself for real," Merle complained loudly. "Fuck this. I'm gonna go move some shit around at Daryl's house, see if I can scare that dumb bitch he lives with a li'l bit. Don't be talkin' too much _shit_ while I'm gone, princess."

Beth made a faint gesture over her shoulder, like she was brushing off dirt. But Merle caught it clearly. He appeared behind Maggie and flipped Beth the bird with an ugly frown.

Then he disappeared again. He didn't reappear this time. Beth breathed a sigh of relief and turned her attention back to the conversation at the table.

A few minutes later, her phone vibrated with a new message from Daryl: _Works for me. He said we can meet him at the station around 12:30. Want me to pick you up so you don't have to borrow your dad's truck again?_

She wasn't sure why, but her stomach fluttered as she read the text and she could feel her ears growing warm. She quickly texted back, _On your bike? _Probably a stupid question, but she had to make sure. No truck meant no long drives with Merle in her ear, so if that was the case, then her answer would definitely be yes.

Her phone buzzed almost immediately with a response: _No, on my magic carpet. Yeah my bike. What else? Lol_

She hadn't even realized she was smiling until Shawn called her out.

"Who're you textin'?"

She shoved her phone beneath her leg and raised her head to find everyone at the table had turned their attention on her. She shrugged bashfully and mumbled, "Nobody."

"Is it _Daryl_?" Shawn teased, smirking.

Her cheeks immediately turned pink and she tried to brush off the comment with a laugh. "No! Why would it be?"

Hershel was smiling at her from his seat and chimed in, "Bethy…"

She was quickly turning bright red, avoiding her dad's gaze and looking to Maggie for rescue. Luckily, Maggie seemed to have been prepared to cover for her.

"Stop teasin' her," she scolded, shooting Shawn a glare that wiped the smirk off his face. Then she looked to Hershel and said, "They're not _dating_. They're just friends. Leave 'em be. She's an adult, she can talk to whoever she wants."

Hershel shrugged indifferently and chuckled. "I never said she couldn't." He looked to Beth and said, "You don't have to hide it from us, Doodlebug. He's a decent fella. I couldn't say the same about that _brother_ of his, but—"

"Dad!" Maggie snapped, lowering her voice as though she were revealing a secret. "His brother _died_."

Shawn raised his coffee cup and said, "Yeah, we heard. Hung himself. Prob'ly did so many damn drugs, it rotted his brain."

Beth nudged an elbow hard into Shawn's side and he grunted, leaning away and giving her a baffled look. She glared back.

Hershel cut in, "Don't speak ill of the dead, Shawn. Merle Dixon didn't have the best reputation, but we should never pass judgment. That's not our job."

"Right," Maggie agreed sharply, glaring at Shawn from across the table with a near identical expression as Beth's.

Shawn rolled his eyes and took a long sip of coffee before mumbling, "Whatever."

"Well," Glenn remarked, his tone notably more cheerful than the others'. "I'm happy for you, Beth. Even if he's just a friend—you can never have too many friends. He's a lucky guy to have you in his life." He smiled warmly over his mug.

Beth smiled back. "Thanks, Glenn. At least _someone_ around here understands platonic relationships."

"Right—_platonic_," Shawn teased. "Fer now."

"Grow up," Maggie scolded.

"_Me_?" Shawn argued. "I'm not the one sneakin' around with some guy twice my age."

"I'm not _sneaking_ _around_!" Beth snapped.

"Who cares how old he is?" Maggie said. "Dad was eighteen years older than Mom—"

"And we're not _dating_," Beth interjected, shooting her sister a meaningful look. "So it doesn't _matter_."

"He's like _forty_, Beth," Shawn insisted. "What business d'you got hangin' around with a middle-aged guy that isn't yer dad?"

"What business do you got tellin' her who she can an' can't hang out with?" Maggie said. "She's twenty-four, Shawn. She's capable of makin' her own decisions."

"That's _enough_," Hershel boomed, his voice raised but calm. He spoke firmly, looking from Shawn to Maggie to Beth and back again. "We are not _fighting_ today, children. Or at _all_ this weekend. We're spending a nice time together as a family. And we're gonna respect each other—and _cherish_ each other. You hear me?"

All three Greene children nodded obediently, lips shut tight. Even Glenn looked a little ashamed, nodding along apologetically even though he hadn't been arguing. Shawn, Maggie, and Beth each mumbled out "sorry, dad" in near unison, sharing remorseful looks amongst one another.

_Some things never change_, Beth thought.

* * *

Once breakfast was finished and the last pot of coffee had dwindled to dregs, the Greene's split off. Hershel and Shawn asked Glenn to join them while they made their late morning rounds of the farm, and Maggie and Beth were left to spend some quality sister time together. They volunteered to clean up the kitchen, which they did fairly quickly. Beth let the silence settle over them, enjoying the limited Merle-free time she was getting.

She'd already opted to text Daryl instead of calling him, agreeing to be picked up shortly after noon. He'd responded with a thumbs up emoji. She tried not to let herself grow too anxious over the prospect of riding on the back of his bike again. She was already plotting out how she'd have to meet him down the road in order to avoid any more awkward questions from Shawn or her dad.

When they finished cleaning up from breakfast, Beth and Maggie sat down in the living room, close together on the big blue couch. The silence had slowly grown more tense. Beth could see all the questions forming on her sister's face.

Once they'd sat down and gotten comfortable, Maggie started asking all the questions she'd been formulating. Beth told her everything about the last few days, from Merle's first appearance to her search for answers in Atlanta, Duane's strange map, the trip to the swamps of Florida, meeting Eastman and Morgan and Tabitha, finding out about her Gift, learning of Papa Legba and his deals, receiving the Djab Idol and the black magic spell… Well, _almost_ everything. She left out minor details, like holding hands with Daryl and being relentlessly teased by Merle. The little fact that Daryl's dad killed his mother—and tried to kill him as well. And all the weird stuff about 'intertwined fates' that Jadis and Morgan had either said or implied. She also hesitated to mention the whole patricide ordeal.

When she talked about Merle, she couldn't help but go on a bit of a rant. She vented about how frustrating he was, how ignorantly he spoke, how every stupid thing that came out of his mouth grated on her last nerve. But she also reiterated how good of a brother he was—because he was. If Beth were honest, he was a pretty damn good brother. Sure, he had his faults. But all in all, he would've given anything to keep Daryl safe. And now, even after death, he was going out of his way to make sure his little brother wouldn't be doomed to suffer for eternity. So, all things considered, yeah, he was a good brother. A little abusive, a little resentful, a little regressive. Very fucking ignorant and narcissistic. But good overall.

She couldn't lie and try to tell Maggie that he was a good _man_, though. Not that Maggie would've been convinced anyway. She was already visibly displeased with most of the things she'd been told—particularly the excessive drive to Florida and the all-too-close encounter with a huge alligator. But she didn't become condescending or discouraging, and that was all Beth could've really hoped for. For once, it was nice just to be heard without the fear of being locked up in a psych ward.

She allowed herself to rant about Daryl a bit, too. Maggie seemed to perk up whenever his name was mentioned, like she was listening a little closer. Beth watched what she said, careful not to speak of him in the same tone she'd used for Merle. Though it wasn't terribly difficult. Even though his stubborn attitude and frustrating silence had put her on edge the day before, she understood it now. And it was yet another piece of the puzzle that comprised who he was, which she was slowly figuring out. She couldn't actually be mad at him or speak of him in a negative light.

After all, he was a pure soul caked in shards of shattered glass. And he was obviously clinging to the remains of the man he was meant to be—the man he still _could _be. He just needed a little help.

Maggie noticed the hint of fondness in Beth's tone. She raised her eyebrows with intrigue and asked, "So you _wanna_ help him? You care about him?"

Beth shrugged and glanced away sheepishly. Why was she embarrassed? _Of course_ she cared about him. He was a human being, and a kind-hearted one at that. Even despite his rough exterior. So why should she be ashamed to admit that she didn't want to see him murdered or know that his soul was going to Hell?

"Yeah," she said, meeting Maggie's green eyes with certainty. "Course I do. He's a good person—he doesn't deserve any of this. If there's somethin' I can do to keep his soul from going to Hell, then… why wouldn't I do it?"

Maggie shrugged, eyeing Beth up and down as though she were looking for some sort of telltale sign. "I dunno… He might be good, but he's not the _best_ guy. You barely know him. What if he's not as innocent as you think?"

Beth frowned. "Merle's told me more than enough. Daryl might be rough around the edges, but he's _not_ Merle. He may not be the _best_, but who is? He _tries_. That's more than I can say about his brother."

"Well, it just doesn't sound like there's a very high bar bein' set here, Bethy," Maggie admitted. "I don't know the guy, but I've been hearin' about the Dixon's fer years. And not one of 'em was ever described as _good_."

"Okay, but Rick an' Daryl are friends," Beth pointed out. "And you know Rick wouldn't be friends with somebody if they were bad news."

Maggie shrugged. "That doesn't necessarily _mean_ anythin', though. Rick's friends with a lotta people. He might not be just like Merle, but—"

"_But_ nothing," Beth interjected sharply. "You don't _know_ him."

She paused and restrained herself, biting her tongue. She wasn't sure why she was getting so fiercely defensive of Daryl all of a sudden, but she couldn't help it. He might've irritated her, but after everything they'd been through together at Morgan's, after all the strength he'd offered throughout the whole experience, she couldn't help but be a little angry that her sister would judge him so harshly. Or doubt him so adamantly. She understood Maggie's need to protect her, but she should've known that Beth wouldn't waste her time trying to help a lost cause. She should've known Beth wouldn't allow _anyone_ to back her into a corner against her own will. Especially not Daryl.

"He's not a perfect person by any means," Beth explained, trying to keep her tone calm and measured. "But he's good _despite_ all of that. Him an' Merle—they didn't _have_ a good life like us, Maggie. They didn't have a nice house or a supportive family or even a dad who cared about 'em. All they ever knew was survival. Their mama died when Daryl was just a kid. And then his dad neglected him and _beat_ him. How d'you think _you_ would act if you'd grown up like that?"

Maggie's face drained of color and her mouth fell into a frown. She glanced away in shame for a moment. "Shit, Bethy… You didn't mention _that_ part."

"Yeah, well," Beth said plainly. "I wasn't tryin' to lay his whole life story out for you 'cause I didn't think it mattered. All that _does_ matter is that somebody killed Merle, they might wanna come kill Daryl next, and if we don't figure it out soon, Daryl's soul will end up in Hell. With Merle. _And_ their dad."

Maggie sighed and worried her lower lip for a long moment. Then she said, "I get it, okay? I understand why you wanna help him, I know why you can't walk away… But I have ta know that yer fully grasping the consequences here. I need ta know that you have an exit plan in case it all goes south."

"I do," Beth quickly assured. "That's what the idol is for. And the banishing spell."

Maggie jerked her head towards the general direction of the stairs. "That dog statue on yer desk an' the weird note you have?"

Beth nodded. "Morgan said pretty much the same stuff you did about me havin' a choice."

Maggie's eyebrows rose. "Good. He was right. You _do_ have a choice… Don't be afraid to exercise it."

Beth sighed and rolled her eyes. "I am. And I'm choosin' to _help_ them. Even if one of 'em doesn't deserve the help."

Maggie gave a tight-lipped nod and smile.

"_That's_ my choice."

"I know, Beth. I can't stop you. And I'm not gonna try." Maggie leaned forward and grasped Beth's hands in hers. "Just… don't forget to remember yourself. That stupid Gift doesn't mean yer chained to _anybody_, dead _or_ alive. Not even Daryl Dixon."

Beth offered a weak smile of reassurance.

"I know."

_Dixon's ain't turnips, _she thought. _But Greene's ain't doormats._

* * *

As expected, Maggie demanded to know what Beth's plan was concerning the next couple of weeks. Beth explained that she didn't have much of a plan—all she knew was that she and Daryl needed to talk to Rick, and that she was supposed to be invited to a Halloween party in which her attendance would be absolutely vital, per Morgan. Maggie proceeded to drill her for a solid twenty minutes about Daryl, asking for every detail she had about him. Thankfully, she seemed to relax a bit once she learned he had a female roommate and a dog and a steady job and at least two respectable friends.

Beth struggled not to roll her eyes every few minutes, quickly growing irritated by her big sister's overprotective nature. But she reminded herself that Maggie was simply scared for her, and that they did indeed have a bond that no one else could ever understand; she might've let her Gift fade away, but that didn't mean she was ignorant to its power.

Then again, Beth wasn't sure that Maggie had fully grasped just how strong Beth had become after twenty years of holding in such a huge and painful secret. Did she have any idea what Beth was actually capable of? How difficult it had been to take a razorblade to her wrist and then decide to live? How many internal battles she'd fought and won all on her own? Probably not.

She might never understand _that_ deeply.

But that was okay. Because she was her sister. She cared. She'd been told by a Witch that Beth would need her guidance. And, as expected, that Witch had been right. Beth couldn't blame her for being a little overly concerned as a result.

Rick Grimes was the only other name that seemed to put Maggie at ease. Beth reassured her over and over that Sheriff Grimes would be a big part of her and Daryl's investigation, and that she had no doubt he'd do everything in his power to keep them both safe. Maggie agreed, though not audibly. Her eyes lit up when Beth reminded her of how Morgan had foretold Rick meeting his "future wife" because of Beth and Daryl's intervention. She was a hopeless romantic at heart—a secret that only Beth really knew. And she used it to her advantage every now and then.

It was half past eleven when Maggie finally declared herself satisfied—or satisfied _enough_—with Beth's plans. She still didn't seem very convinced that it was safe, or even smart, but she was getting better at biting her tongue and Beth was grateful for that. Slowly but surely, her sister was beginning to view her as an adult who could make her own choices. And that was all she could really ask for at this point.

"Yer not gonna skip out on the memorial fer this, are you?" Maggie asked.

"No," Beth replied indignantly. "Of _course_ not."

"Okay. Just makin' sure," Maggie said. "What about Daryl?"

"What _about_ Daryl?"

"Well, what's he gonna do tomorrow?"

"I don't _know_. We haven't gotten that far. But I'm sure we can put it off fer one day."

"Okay, whatever," Maggie sneered. "No need fer an _attitude_."

Beth rolled her eyes.

"C'mon—let's make some lunch." Maggie patted Beth's leg and stood from the couch, stretching out her arms after sitting for so long.

"I'm still full from breakfast," Beth said, pulling out her phone and checking it for the first time in an hour. There was a text from Daryl that had arrived five minutes ago. It read: _On my way._

"Well you should still eat somethin' before you go runnin' off with Daryl again," Maggie said. "C'mon, I'll make us some sandwiches."

Beth stood from the couch and followed her sister to the kitchen, trying to ignore the way her stomach had suddenly started fluttering. "I'll just grab a granola bar fer later. Me an' Daryl will stop ta eat somewhere."

"As long as yer eatin'," Maggie muttered.

Beth wasn't sure why she was so anxious for Daryl's arrival. Logically, she should've been dreading it, because it would mean Merle's return as well. Yet all she could think about was riding on the back of his bike and—crap, had she dressed appropriately for the back of a motorcycle? There was a leather jacket in her closet that she hadn't worn in a couple years, but would it be chilly enough to necessitate its use? Wait… why did she _care_ so much? It would be fine, she silently assured herself. She'd ridden on that damn thing once already and she'd been even less prepared than she was now. Today, she'd chosen tight jeans, sturdy black boots, and a lightweight tan jacket over a long-sleeved white tee. Surely that would be more than suitable for a couple hours of motorcycle riding in the middle of October. Or a few hours. Depending on what happened. Whatever.

Maggie was humming an old tune as she went about making a sandwich for herself, her eyes repeatedly flicking up to look out the kitchen window. Beth went to the pantry and opened the door, reaching in to grab two granola bars before stepping back and shutting the door. When she turned around, Merle was standing before her. She reflexively gasped and froze. But as soon as she saw his stupid grin, she frowned.

"Miss me?" He asked, blue eyes twinkling.

Maggie heard the gasp and turned around, looking to Beth. "What's…" She paused and when Beth's gaze met hers, an expression of recognition crossed her face. "Oh. Is he back?"

Beth nodded, then looked back to Merle and pointedly rolled her eyes. He cackled.

"He's on his way, blondie," he muttered. "But I'm sure you already knew that. Saw 'im _textin'_ ya." His tone seemed to take on a hint of resentment.

Beth merely _mmhmm_ed in response as she brushed past him and retrieved her purse from where it sat on the table, stuffing the granola bars inside.

"Daryl's on his way?" Maggie asked.

"Yeah," Beth replied.

As if on cue, the rumble of a motorcycle drifted into the kitchen from down the road. Beth's heart skipped.

"I wanna talk to him before y'all go ridin' off anywhere," Maggie said. "He's comin' up to the house, right?"

"Talk to 'im about what?" Merle asked, narrowing his eyes at Beth. "The hell's she want with my brother? What'd you tell 'er while I was gone?"

Beth withheld a sigh of exasperation and gave her sister a shrug just as her phone vibrated in her pocket. She quickly pulled it out and found a new text.

_Stopped down the road. Did you want me to come up the driveway?_

Her stomach fluttered again and she typed out, _Yeah. Meet me on the back porch._

She pressed Send and looked up to find Maggie staring at her expectantly, mayonnaise-slathered knife in hand.

Beth raised her eyebrows. "_What_?"

Maggie rolled her eyes. "Is he comin' up here or not?"

"Oh my god, _yes_—are you happy? He's coming to the house. Jeez."

She typed out a second text as fast as she could: _my sister wants to talk to you before we leave._

"Stop bein' a brat," Maggie scolded.

The rumble of the motorcycle grew closer and louder until it was filling the kitchen and approaching from down the long driveway.

Beth was almost certain she hadn't sent that second text quickly enough.

**to be continued...**


	27. Uniform Violations

**Uniform Violations**

Daryl was dressed almost exactly the same as he'd been the day before, angel wings vest and all. There were bags under his eyes and he looked like he hadn't slept very well. He seemed hesitant to climb off his bike even before Maggie came storming out the backdoor and down the porch steps.

"The hell'd you tell 'er, blondie?" Merle growled in Beth's ear.

Her eyes were glued to the sight of Daryl slowly climbing off his bike, his shoulders squared and chest puffed out as Maggie rapidly approached.

"Everything," Beth mumbled, just loud enough for Merle to hear. "Pretty much, anyway."

"Now what the fuck'd ya go an' do that for?" Merle scoffed.

"She needed to know," Beth snapped. "Morgan told me ta look fer guidance within my home—and that guidance is Maggie."

"Don't mean she's got any right ta go interrogatin' my brother," Merle grumbled unhappily. "Ain't like he's been slippin' under yer skirt."

Beth rolled her eyes.

Then he cackled and added, "Least not _yet_!"

She huffed out a frustrated breath and ignored him, descending the porch steps and taking long strides through the grass to reach Maggie and Daryl. It appeared friendly so far—they'd just shaken hands and introduced themselves, though there was a frighteningly determined look on Maggie's face as she looked up at Daryl. He was only an inch or two taller than her, but Beth could see the defensive set of his jaw and the tension in his stance. Maggie was smiling. For now.

"Sorry," Beth apologized to Daryl as soon as she'd stepped up to her sister's side. "We were talkin' and—"

"I know everything," Maggie said plainly, green eyes set intently on Daryl.

His face drained of color and he glanced to Beth for rescue. She gave him a helpless shrug.

"Everything…?" Daryl asked, meeting Maggie's glare with a tentative expression.

Beth and Maggie nodded in unison.

But before Maggie could open her mouth, Beth was quickly explaining, "I tried ta lie, but it's—she's the guidance that Morgan told me I needed to find. She inherited the same Gift as me. She talked to a Witch, too."

Daryl looked baffled. His mouth opened and closed as he glanced back and forth between the Greene sisters.

"So I told her," Beth finished softly. "I had to, Daryl. I'm sorry."

"I'm not here ta get in the middle of it," Maggie assured, raising her eyebrows at Daryl. He relaxed just the slightest and she went on, "But it is _serious_. This is a murderer _and_ a demon that y'all are dealing with—it's dangerous shit. I just have ta know she's safe. She's my only sister, I have to look out for her—you get it, right?"

Daryl quickly nodded and Beth could see him swallowing hard, fingers fidgeting nervously at his sides. He wanted to chew on his thumbnail but he was resisting the urge.

He met Maggie's eyes with an intensity and confidence of his own, chin raised and head tilted back until he was looking down his nose at her. "Yeah. I get it. 'S just somethin' that can be real hard to explain. Ya know—ta anybody else. Gonna be hard enough ta convince Rick that we ain't batshit insane."

"I understand that," Maggie said. "But I… genuinely believe this is somethin' that the two of you have ta figure out together." Daryl's stance relaxed further as she went on. "I learned my lesson when it comes ta doubtin' Witches an' all their predictions. I _know_ my sister isn't crazy or makin' things up—I also know that she's an adult and she can make her _own_ choices. I just _worry_ about her. This is…"

She seemed to be at a loss for words. Daryl noticed and finished for her, "A really big fuckin' mess? Yeah. I know. Trust me, I'm more'an aware of how serious it is. Never wanted ta get into anythin' like this—not if I'd had a choice."

Maggie crossed her arms over her chest.

Daryl went on confidently, "But ain't nothin' gonna happen to 'er through all a this, no matter where it takes us. Not on my watch."

Maggie's eyebrows rose with intrigue and she turned her head to give Beth a _look_. Beth could feel the heat rising up her neck and threatening to turn her cheeks red.

She quickly nodded in agreement. "He brought a _gun_ to the swamps—he was ready ta shoot Eastman when we met him," she told Maggie quietly. "I think I'm safer with Daryl than anybody else."

Maggie sighed and looked back at Daryl, her arms loosening over her chest. Daryl shoved his hands into his pockets and shrugged.

Then Maggie said, "Our mom's annual memorial is tomorrow."

"Oh yeah?" Daryl grunted.

"Yeah," Maggie replied without hesitation. "It's a whole thing: lunch and quality time together an' whatnot. That's what I drove down here for in the first place. So is _all this_ gonna impede on that, or—are you gonna take a break from yer murderer hunt and join us?"

Beth held her breath—as well as a remark that wanted to slip out—and tried not to stare at how pink the tips of Daryl's ears were turning. He cleared his throat and shifted his weight awkwardly.

"Nah, 'snot gonna impede on that," he muttered. "I didn't, uh—don't really think it's my place ta join y'all neither."

Maggie frowned. Then she shrugged indifferently and said, "Alright. Jus' thought I'd ask."

Beth let out her breath slowly, unsure of what she could possibly say to cut this tense conversation short.

After a few long seconds of silence, Maggie pointedly glanced at the motorcycle sitting behind him. "That's what you guys are gonna be ridin'?"

Daryl nodded.

She quirked an eyebrow. "So you got a helmet fer my baby sister, Mr. Dixon?"

Daryl turned and opened up the bag that was hanging over the side of the bike. He pulled out a black motorcycle helmet—too small for him, but perfect for Beth's head.

"Right here, Miss Greene," he quipped. Then he pointed to the sparkly ring that was prominently displayed on her finger. "Or should I say, Miss Bride-To-Be."

Maggie chuckled in surprise and looked over to Beth, smirking. "I guess this guy's got it all figured out, huh?"

Beth couldn't help but smile back.

* * *

Beth and Daryl were about a mile down the road, heading towards the Sheriff's Department, when she leaned forward and put her mouth close to his ear. She had to speak loudly through her helmet and over the roar of the engine beneath them, the air whipping past their heads.

"I didn't tell Maggie _everything_. Not the stuff about yer dad or Merle killin' him or anything—just the important stuff."

Daryl whipped his head around and shot her a glare. She reeled, leaning slightly away from him in response. He revved the engine a little harder and they picked up speed, then they were suddenly slowing down. He veered over to the side of the road and brought the bike to a complete stop before putting both boots down on the gravel.

Beth reached up and slipped her helmet off in time to see Daryl twisting around and glaring down at her over his shoulder.

"Yeah? That's _all_ ya told her?" He asked angrily.

Beth nodded, brow furrowed and lips parted in surprise. She didn't understand why he was reacting like this. "Well, yeah. What—why're you upset?"

He sighed and slashed an arm through the air. "You kiddin' me, Beth? We promised not ta tell _anybody_!"

Beth reeled. She responded defensively, "Anybody doesn't include my _sister_! She had the same secret as me this whole time—she's the only person I _could_ tell!"

Daryl scoffed and shook his head. "Bullshit."

"What the hell are you so pissed off about?" Beth demanded. "This is ridiculous—you _heard_ what Morgan said. I needed to look within my home and within my heart. That was _Maggie_! She talked to a Witch just like _we_ did. She learned things she shouldn't've learned. She _understands_."

"Yeah? 'S that what you think?" Daryl argued. "She don't understand _shit_. All she knows 's that her precious baby sister is runnin' around with some no-good Dixon, gettin' inta God-knows-what kinda trouble—"

"Stop the pity party already," Beth snapped, the words pouring from her mouth in an uninhibited rage. "Yer dad an' yer brother might not've had a good reputation, but that doesn't mean _shit_ fer _you_. You're _different_, Daryl Dixon. I know it—and now _Maggie_ knows it. Get the hell over it. She's not stoppin' us an' she's not comin' after you with a shotgun. She's here for _me_."

Daryl's lips snapped shut and he stared back at Beth with indignant fury, blue eyes narrowed and jaw tensed. "Fer _you_, huh? An' who're _you_ here for? Yerself?"

"No. I'm here for you," Beth said flatly. "'Cause yer a good person—no matter how hard you try ta convince everybody that yer not. And I don't think your soul belongs in Hell. And it's my choice to help and I've decided that I _want_ to help."

Daryl growled in discontentment. "Till ya decide you don't. Then what? You an' yer big sis gonna magically forget the whole thing?"

Beth rolled her eyes. "Gimme a break. There's no backin' outta this. Yer so worried about Maggie, but what about Rick? Huh? What d'you think we're gonna tell _him_?"

Daryl blinked and glanced away for a moment, his scowl deepening.

Then he shrugged. "Whatever he needs ta know. I'on't think the _ghost_ shit really needs ta be shared, though." He jerked his chin toward her expectantly. "Wouldn'tcha say?"

She frowned and said, "It's not that easy. You should've learned that by now."

He grunted with disapproval. "Well it's ain't a fuckin' _family_ matter, I know that much."

Beth huffed out a humorless laugh. "Seriously? How is it _not_ a family matter?"

"'Cause it's not. Ain't somethin' that yer whole fuckin' family needs ta be in on."

"And they're _not_. Just Maggie—she's my _sister_. This is a scary new thing for me, ya know. And she's the only one I can turn to for actual _support_. How can you not understand that?"

"I'ono, just sounds like some more fuckin' red tape ta me with her nose stuck in this whole mess."

"I know yer not very familiar with the whole concept of _empathy_, but let's think fer a second about _your_ brother—how d'you think _he_ would act if he were in Maggie's position? And you were in mine? Don'tcha think he might be a little _concerned_? Don'tcha think you might want just _one_ person that you knew you could turn to for advice?"

"Stop talkin' ta me like I'm a fuckin' kindergartener."

"Then stop _acting_ like one!"

"My _brother_ ain't the same as yer _sister_! Okay? It ain't the fuckin' same _at all_. Don't tell her one more goddamn thing about me. Conversation over."

Beth opened her mouth to argue but Daryl revved the engine of the bike back to life and drowned out her words. She shoved her helmet back on and wrapped her arms begrudgingly around his middle as they began to pull back out into the road and speed off. He remained stiff beneath her grasp for the next five miles.

_Dixons ain't turnips, _she tried to remind herself.

But holy shit, what a reluctant fucking bleeder this one was.

* * *

The King County Sheriff's Department was a wide one-story building with a vast parking lot and tall chainlink fences lining the entire perimeter. Daryl pulled his bike into an empty spot on the far side of the lot and shut off the engine, kicking down the kickstand while Beth pulled off her helmet and shook out her hair. He stood and stepped away from the bike, waiting for her wordlessly without looking at her.

She could feel the tension that remained between them after their little argument. Though she couldn't say she was terribly concerned with it at the moment. He would come around eventually—he _had_ to. Within minutes, they would be talking to Rick. And asking for help with this particular predicament would be a group effort.

Unfortunately, Merle appeared beside the front door of the Sheriff's Department, a smug smirk on his face and a cigarette in hand as he eyeballed Beth and Daryl.

"Guess it's time fer a visit back home," he cackled. "Wonder if they got somebody in my cell today. Ol' Grimes always liked lockin' the drunkards up fer any which reason—fuckin' pig. Think I can scare 'im while we're here?"

Daryl opened the door and walked through ahead of Beth. She paused and scowled at Merle.

"Please _don't_," she muttered.

Merle laughed as the door fell closed behind her.

Beth and Daryl approached the thick glass that encaged the front desk to find an empty chair. A second later, a man stepped out from the back and walked up to stand behind the desk, a malicious smirk on his sun-tanned face. The shiny name badge pinned to his uniform read _Walsh_.

"Aw hell," Walsh chuckled as he eyed Daryl up and down through the glass, barely giving Beth so much as a brief glance. "If it ain't the last Dixon himself. What brings ya back around, Daryl? If yer lookin' for yer brother, he's in the morgue."

"Nah," Daryl retorted without missing a beat. "He's in ashes, spread out on the Georgia countryside. Nice ta see you too, asshole."

Beth stood at his side, silent. She'd met Shane Walsh a time or two, but only because he was Rick's partner and best friend. He'd never made a very good impression on her. Though admittedly, she didn't know him very well. Not nearly as well as Daryl and Merle knew him, apparently.

"Good ta know his toxin-riddled body ain't poisonin' the ground," Shane said coldly, brown eyes locked on Daryl's through the glass that separated them.

Beth could see Daryl's shoulders tensing, the muscles in his back flexing and rippling beneath his vest. She bit her tongue, keeping faith that he would ask to speak to Rick before this little spat escalated any further.

Merle appeared on the other side of the thick glass, standing behind Shane with a heavy frown on his face. He was shooting a death glare in the direction of Walsh's back.

"I never fuckin' liked this asshole," he muttered. "Cocky beaner piece a _shit_. Always thinkin' he's _better_'an everybody else." He turned his head and spat on the ground, then he threw up a middle finger to Shane's back. "_Fuck_ you, spic! Shoulda killed you when I had the fuckin' chance."

"Where's Rick?" Daryl asked.

Shane frowned and glanced over his shoulder. For a second, Beth wondered if he could feel Merle's presence looming angrily behind him.

He crossed his arms over his chest and shrugged indifferently. "On lunch. I know you prob'ly jus' rolled outta bed, redneck. But it's lunch time fer those of us with jobs."

Daryl scoffed. "I _got_ a job, dumbass. Rick asked me ta come down here at lunch. So where is 'e?"

Merle growled and leaned forward, glaring daggers through Walsh's back. "I oughta fuckin' _gut_ you fer talkin' like that. Maybe I'll fry up some bacon today." He shot a look towards Beth. "Whadd'ya say, blondie? You in the mood fer some sizzled pork?"

Beth bit down on her lower lip and kept her eyes on Daryl and Shane. Both men had fixed murderous gazes on one another and she was growing desperate to escape the palpable tension.

"Busy," Shane said, scowling. "Didn't mention nothin' 'bout _you_ comin' down. 'Less yer wantin' ta turn yerself in."

"Fuck it," Merle declared. "I'mma mess with this dickhead!"

Beth watched with wide eyes, unable to react in time to stop it, as Merle leapt forward with all his strength and grabbed Shane by the thighs. At nearly the exact same second, the door behind them opened and Rick emerged with one hand on the doorknob and the other clutching a half-eaten fried chicken leg.

He froze and stopped mid-chew as he took in the scene before him: Daryl and Beth standing on the outside of the glass, completely dumbfounded, while Shane's pants were jerked down to his ankles. And not _just_ his pants—his red plaid boxers, too.

Merle jumped back and guffawed, all too pleased with himself. Shane looked down in shock, his face turning bright red. Beth gasped and covered her eyes, letting out a squeal of surprise. Daryl barked out a loud laugh while Rick stood and stared, baffled.

"What the _fuck_—!" Shane frantically reached down to pull his pants back up, stumbling forward in the process and nearly falling on his face.

"Oh my _god_, look at that pathetic li'l thing!" Merle laughed. "You call that thing a _dick_?!"

Beth refused to uncover her eyes until the sounds of scuffling feet and a loose belt buckle had silenced. She'd already seen more curly bush than she'd ever wanted to see. Daryl was laughing even harder and Merle was cackling behind the glass along with him. Rick remained where he was, barely moving to allow Shane to shove past him and disappear behind the door. It fell shut behind him, leaving Sheriff Grimes standing with a look of befuddlement and a forgotten chicken leg clutched in his hand.

He approached the glass slowly, eyeing Beth and Daryl up and down. He glanced back over his shoulder, still trying to figure out what exactly he'd just witnessed. Then his wide blue eyes met Daryl's.

"What the _hell_ just happened?"

Daryl's laughter slowly died out and he was still chuckling when he responded, "Yer partner's a fuckin' moron, Grimes."

"Well no shit. But…" Rick blinked and turned his attention to Beth. "Beth?" He looked back at Daryl. "Ya didn't mention you'd be bringin' Hershel's daughter along. What's goin' on? Why're you two hangin' out?"

He put his free hand on his hip and glanced back over his shoulder with a fresh wave of bewilderment. "And why the _fuck_ did Shane have his goddamn _pants_ down around his ankles?"

Merle's triumphant laughter echoed even after he disappeared.

**to be continued...**


	28. The Art of Hanging Yourself Just Right

**The Art of Hanging Yourself Just Right**

To Beth's surprise, Daryl was a pretty decent liar.

Well—it wasn't exactly _lying_. More like weaving a slightly different truth from the threads of a much more complicated story, with little excuses thrown in here and there. But then she reckoned she shouldn't be so surprised. He'd probably had years of practice due to Merle's habit of getting arrested.

He didn't seem terribly pleased about fibbing to his good friend, Rick Grimes, as she could see from the tense set of his jaw and the stiffness in his spine. But he kept shooting her sidelong glances, wordlessly seeking her reassurance. She nodded along and agreed intermittently, throwing in her own little details whenever she was sure they'd be a help and not a hindrance.

Rick appeared less than convinced for a long few moments. But his expression gradually softened, and by the time he was finished with the 3-piece fried chicken meal sitting before him—which he'd been eating out of a styrofoam box while Daryl and Beth talked—he mostly looked concerned. Maybe a little skeptical, and definitely more than bewildered. His blue eyes were narrowed, constantly shifting from Daryl to Beth and back again. But whatever questions might've been forming in his head were being withheld until Daryl was finished.

Rick wiped a dab of mashed potatoes from his lips and wadded up the napkin, dropping it into the empty box and pushing the whole thing aside. He set his elbows on the desk and leaned forward a bit, listening intently and then mulling it over for a long moment. He hummed thoughtfully, picking food from his teeth with his tongue behind tightly pursed lips.

Then he raised his eyebrows and frowned at Daryl.

"So, lemme get this straight," Rick said in his thick Southern drawl. "You think Merle was… _murdered_. And whoever killed him might be comin' after you fer… some reason y'ain't figured out yet?"

Daryl shrugged, nodding awkwardly. He'd already begun chewing on his thumbnail.

Rick blinked and widened his eyes. "The case is already closed, Daryl. You had 'im cremated, sold the cabin—ain't nothin' left ta go off of. Even if yer right, there's no way ta prove it."

"Don't care about _provin'_ it," Daryl said, putting his hands in his lap and leaning forward in his seat. "I jus' wanna know who killed my brother. 'Cause he sure as shit didn't kill himself."

Rick furrowed his brow, frowning. "I don't understand—you _found_ him. I offered ta look into it an' you said no. We didn't even _try_ ta start puttin' together a list of possible suspects, 'cause you said there weren't any. Two weeks ago, you were certain beyond a doubt that Merle hung himself. What changed? What'd you _really_ find out? 'Cause I ain't really buyin' this—" he made air quotes with his fingers "—'_gut feeling_' nonsense yer tryin' ta sell me."

Daryl shifted in his seat uncomfortably and Beth could tell that he was trying to come up with a believable lie on the spot. But he wasn't very good at it. He clearly hadn't learned quite as much from Merle as he probably should have.

She quickly chimed in, "We got a tip. Anonymously."

Rick turned his attention to Beth, eyebrows raised in curiosity. "A _tip_?"

She nodded. "Yeah, like—a note. Sayin' Merle was murdered and Daryl could be next."

Rick looked baffled. "What—a _note_? So where is it?"

"Where's what?" Daryl asked.

Rick turned to Daryl. "The note!"

"Threw it away," Daryl quickly lied.

Rick sighed, blinking incredulously. "You _threw it away_?"

"More like, _lost_ it," Beth added, attempting to help. Jeez, Daryl really _wasn't_ good at lying. "But it's gone. Sorry."

Daryl grunted in agreement.

Rick shook his head and lowered it, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. "Okay," he muttered, slowly raising his head to look at Daryl again. "I don't think you'd lie ta me, Daryl. And I can't really figure out _why_ you'd lie about this anyhow, so… whatever. I'ono what's got this wild hair up yer ass all'a sudden, but if it's got somethin' ta do with grief and… I dunno—_closure_, as my therapist puts it—then I'll help. 'Slong as I ain't gotta try ta open up some brand new case an' fill out a buncha damn paperwork, I don't really care."

"That's fine," Daryl said, perking up a bit. "'M not askin' fer much. Just a little help—files an' whatnot. Ain't askin' ya to go on a manhunt or nothin'."

Rick huffed out a breath. "Hell, I'd sure hope not. I got enough on my plate as it is, 'tween the divorce an' the custody case an' whatever the fuck Shane's gettin' up to." He rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I know." Daryl's voice softened and he was slowly relaxing. "Sorry, man. You know I ain't tryin' ta be a pain in the ass. Wouldn't be buggin' ya with it if I didn't think it was legit."

"Nah, _I'm_ sorry. I understand. It's yer brother an' all." Rick shrugged. "I jus' hope you can get it figured out without gettin' the department involved. We already got one murder case on our hands, we don't need anymore."

Beth couldn't help but grow curious. "A _murder_ case? In Senoia?"

Rick furrowed his brow and turned his attention to Beth. "Yeah—what're you doin' here anyhow? With Daryl?" He gestured to the living Dixon sitting beside her.

She quickly shrugged, willing the heat rising in her cheeks to go away. "Just… hangin' out."

Rick blinked. "Just _hangin' out_, huh?" He repeated suspiciously. "Does yer daddy know yer here?"

Beth scoffed. "Yeah, 'course. Why?"

Rick looked to Daryl with the same expression of suspicion. "How'd y'all even meet? Y'know she babysits Judith for me sometimes. You been friends this whole time an' never even mentioned it?"

The tips of Daryl's ears were turning red and he shifted in his seat, letting out a choked grunt of surprise. "Maybe."

Rick's mouth curved into a baffled half-smile and he looked at Beth again. "Does yer dad know yer friends with Daryl Dixon?"

Beth frowned, becoming a little more defensive than she intended. "What's my dad gotta do with it? I'm twenty-four, he doesn't need ta constantly keep _tabs_ on me."

Suddenly, Rick's half-smile turned into a full-blown grin and his eyes lit up like he'd just solved a riddle. He chuckled and leaned back in his chair, arms tightening over his chest as he looked from Beth to Daryl slowly. "Oh, _I_ see what's goin' on here."

"What?" Daryl asked cluelessly.

_Aw, crap, _Beth thought. She could feel her face turning red and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

Rick chuckled again, all too confidently. He nodded. "Maggie called me yesterday askin' about ya. Now I see why she thought you was babysittin'... Y'all are _datin'_, huh?"

_Please don't let Merle show up right now,_ Beth silently prayed. He'd disappeared after pantsing Shane, presumably wreaking havoc on the rest of the department—or maybe just harassing Shane some more. Nonetheless, she knew he could reappear at any moment. _Please don't let Merle show up right now. Please please please._

Daryl reflexively barked out a laugh, "_hah!_"—a little too loudly for Beth's liking. She frowned and shot him a sidelong glare, pursing her lips and trying to withhold any immediate retorts that might want to escape.

Rick laughed and rapped his knuckles on the surface of his desk. "'S okay, I won't tell nobody… Yer little secret's safe with me." He winked at Beth and she knew her face was beet red, but all she could do was roll her eyes and glance away awkwardly. Then Rick turned his gaze on Daryl, still grinning, and said, "Best be careful try'na sneak around, though. You don't wanna get on Ol' Man Greene's bad side. _Trust_ me."

"We're not _dating_," Beth said sharply, ignoring the way Daryl turned his head to give her a disapproving look. She stared back at Rick with determination, desperately wishing her face weren't so hot. "We're just friends. He needs help—_support_."

"_Mmhmm_," Rick hummed knowingly, smirking. He chuckled again, eyeing Beth and Daryl up and down as though he were seeing them in a different light.

"So you gonna pull all the files an' help me figure this out or what?" Daryl asked, an impatient edge in his voice.

Rick shrugged, sighing and crossing his arms over his chest once more. "Yeah, I'll show ya everythin' I got. But it probably ain't gonna do ya much good. Walsh did most'a the paperwork, so it's a little sloppy."

"Figures," Daryl grumbled unhappily.

"You have like—the autopsy an' stuff?" Beth asked.

Rick glanced at her. "'Course I do. Ain't pretty, though."

"Why would it be?" Beth quipped.

Rick gave her a crooked smile and shrugged once more. "Don't go tellin' yer daddy I showed you this stuff now."

"We won't," Daryl cut in. "So long 's you don't go tellin' 'im we're _datin'_."

Beth's jaw dropped and she looked over at Daryl with shock, but Rick didn't seem to notice. He simply chuckled and nodded.

"You got yerself a deal, Dixon. Now let's get things movin'—my lunch break's almost over an' I got a goddamn mountain of paperwork ta finish."

* * *

The files pertaining to Merle Dixon's death were fairly thin compared to the multiple heavy folders that contained his arrest records. There were crime scene reports and detailed descriptions of his post-mortem state, documents leftover from a briefly opened "suspicious fatality" case, as well as an autopsy—just as Rick had promised.

The glossy photos inside Merle's file were… _gruesome_, to say the least. Beth stared at one photo and then another. She saw his pale bluish skin, his bloated belly, his cold dead fingers, the thick purple ring around his neck. And then a third and a fourth photo, all of them from different angles. She saw the abnormal way his eyes bulged from his skull, the odd angle of his neck, the prominent veins on his eyelids, the yellow tint to his grisly fingernails. A fifth and sixth and seventh photo that focused on specific parts of his anatomy. There were veins in places where veins shouldn't be, bruises and puncture marks and long pink scars, tattoos that looked shriveled and faded and _sad_. An eighth, ninth, tenth nauseating picture. More scars. More blue and purple skin. More veins, more bruises, more scabs and marks left by needles and lighters and blades and fingernails.

By the time she'd watched Rick and Daryl pull nineteen photos out and lay them upon the surface of the desk, she could taste bacon and stomach acid on her tongue. She had to look away and swallow back the bile.

Luckily, neither man seemed to notice her repulsion. They were too wrapped up in staring at the photos, shuffling through the papers, and identifying tiny details. They skimmed over the toxicology report, with Rick pointing out each percentage and explaining to Daryl what it meant. Daryl nodded along, staring down at the paper in his hands, frowning.

Beth could tell that he wasn't finding what he'd expected. Admittedly, she'd hoped the answer would be easy to find, as well. But if she were being realistic, she knew it wouldn't be. They would have to look deeper than autopsies and toxicology reports. They would have to visit the crime scene, as Morgan foretold. Though she also knew that this—going to Rick, consulting the "computers" and "papers"—was undoubtedly step one. Because Morgan had foretold that part, too.

But what would they find in these files that could possibly help them? If there hadn't been enough to raise any red flags with Rick or the rest of the department, then what would change now?

_Small towns can be their own kind of hell, _she reminded herself. And Rick had said it himself: Shane did most of the paperwork. And he was sloppy. Clearly he'd never liked Merle, or any of the Dixon's. So who was to say he hadn't glossed over some important details in his careless haste?

She was hesitant to look at any more photos that might be presented, but when Rick opened a new folder and extracted a set of crime scene photos, her attention was piqued. She stared down at the glossy pictures he was laying before them. Daryl's narrowed eyes were darting from one to the other and back again in rapid succession, trying to observe twelve different high-definition photos at once. Beth didn't have to stare very long to figure out they were all pictures of Merle's cabin—specifically, his bedroom. Where he'd been found hanging from the ceiling.

"_Christ_," Daryl breathed out. He jabbed a finger down atop one of the photos, pointing to a spot on the wall behind Merle's noose. "There—that bullet hole wasn't there before. Where'd it come from?"

Beth's eyes darted over to where Daryl was pointing and she leaned down a little closer, inspecting the spot. Sure enough, there was an obvious bullet hole in the wall right above the curtained window. The noose dangled in the foreground ominously.

Rick scoffed and gestured to three other photos that depicted the living room and bathroom, as well as the other side of Merle's bedroom. "There was bullet holes all over that damn place. You know how yer brother liked his guns." He pointed to the photo of the living room, indicating a specific area in the corner. "We found a stolen bust of Robert E. Lee that Merle was usin' fer target practice. It was shattered all ta hell, left four bullet holes in the wall behind it. His bedroom weren't much different."

Daryl grunted out a half-chuckle of amusement and Beth noticed a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. But it disappeared just as quickly. He cleared his throat and jabbed his finger down on the bedroom photo again. "Nah—I knew every shot he took in that house. _This_ wasn't one of 'em."

Rick _hmph_ed indecisively. Then he said, "Well, y'all weren't talkin' fer a while 'fore he committed suicide. And with all the drugs—"

Beth tensed. Daryl interjected sharply, "That don't mean shit. I knew my brother, I knew every fuckin' thing 'bout his life. And he didn't _kill_ himself. There's somethin' we're missin' here, Rick. I'd bet my fuckin' _life_ on it."

_You kinda already did_, Beth thought. She pursed her lips.

Rick put up his hands in surrender. "Alright, I'm not disputin' yer claims. All I'm sayin' is it ain't somethin' we'd be able ta go off of."

"Yeah?" Daryl argued. "Ya didn't test fer gunpowder residue or whatever it is y'all do fer shit like that?"

Rick shrugged. "'Course we did. But there was _lotsa_ shit on yer brother's corpse. Gunpowder residue all over that damn cabin. Woulda been impossible to trace it back to one specific source. He had a shit ton of guns in there, most of 'em unregistered…"

Beth reached forward and slipped out one of the autopsy photos from beneath the pile, pointing to a detail on the neck and upper shoulders of Merle's corpse. It had inexplicably stuck out to her whenever she'd first glanced it. "What about this? Those look like nail marks, an' these bruises look like fingers—like they were there _before_ the noose."

Rick cocked his head and narrowed his eyes, leaning down a bit to examine what she was pointing out. Daryl peered down closer, too. But then Rick frowned and shook his head, meeting Beth's curious gaze for only a second before looking away bashfully.

"Uh, we kinda figured… that was, uh," Rick struggled to respond.

Daryl cut in matter-of-factly, "Merle liked the kinky shit. He always had bites an' scratches an' bruises from bein' choked. It's what got 'im off."

Beth's face turned red and she pulled her hand back awkwardly. "Oh."

Rick chuckled and ran a hand through his short brown hair. "Hell, I didn't wanna be the one ta say it, but—yeah. Merle Dixon was notorious fer gettin' injured durin'—uh, during _coitus_."

Daryl rolled his eyes and looked over at Beth. "Ya ever heard'a autoerotic asphyxiation?"

Beth suppressed a giggle and nodded her head. "Yeah…"

Daryl shrugged and looked back down to the photos. "Well, that was his thing fer the last decade or so. Weird fucker. If it wasn't that, it was knives or handcuffs or whatever-the-fuck else." He pointed down to an inch-long scar on the underside of Merle's corpse's jaw. "That's from the time some skank nearly knicked his jugular. I thought he was gonna bleed out on the bedroom floor."

"And this," Rick added, pointing down at a small cut on the bluish temple of Merle's corpse. "Was just as fresh as the nail marks, so we figured it was the same—uh, _encounter_."

"Prob'ly was," Daryl scoffed and shoved the photo back under the pile, clearly disgusted.

"I didn't… know," Beth said quietly. She kind of wished she hadn't even said anything. She definitely didn't want to learn all _that_.

"'S alright," Rick said. "I'll be real honest: when I firs' got the call, I thought he was gonna be another David Carradine. I mean, it was only a matter'a time, ya know?"

Daryl grunted in amusement and Rick smirked.

Then the sheriff went on more seriously, "Jus' makes all this a little harder. There really wasn't much ta find in the first place. I can't even say that I think you'll find a damned thing that's gonna help at this point." He gave Daryl an apologetic look. "I reckon y'already knew that, though."

Daryl sighed and looked back down at the photos with glazed eyes. "Yeah. I do. I just… got a real bad feelin'. Like there's somethin' we're missin'. Can't figure it out."

"Merle _wouldn't_ have killed himself," Beth said softly.

Rick looked to her with surprise but Daryl quickly agreed. "Can't nobody kill a Dixon 'cept a Dixon. That was his goddamn life motto. But I don't care how much booze was in his system or how many drugs he was on—that stubborn fucker never woulda gone out like _this_."

Rick raised his eyebrows and took a step back, crossing his arms over his chest and giving Daryl an incredulous look. "Well… we ain't got a body no more, jus' these photos. If you wanna find out more, it sounds ta me like ya might have ta take a visit to the crime scene. Anythin' happens to comes up, I'm just a phone call away."

Daryl glanced over at Beth and they shared a brief look.

"I'd go with ya, but I'm kinda swamped," Rick added.

"Nah," Daryl assured him. "'S alright. Think we gotta do this on our own."

_We __**know**__ we have to do this on our own,_ Beth thought.

They'd both been waiting for this cue. They both remembered what Morgan had told them. The files and reports would only reveal so much. Now it was time to find out what the cabin was hiding.

* * *

As they left the Sheriff's Department and began to cross the parking lot, Beth spotted Merle sitting atop Daryl's bike and leisurely smoking a cigarette. Puffs of smoke rose from his mouth and dissipated into the air above him. He watched them approaching with a smug smirk.

"Walsh's pants comin' down—that was Merle, huh?" Daryl asked quietly, his arm bumping against Beth's as they walked side-by-side.

She couldn't help but chuckle at the memory. "Yeah. He kinda deserved it."

Daryl grunted with amusement. "More'an _kinda_."

When they reached the bike, Merle hopped off and tossed his cigarette butt to the ground. He puffed his chest out proudly and told Beth, "That was a good visit. Think I scared the ever-livin' shit outta Walsh in record time. _And_ some crackhead in the holding cell!"

Beth rolled her eyes and brushed him off. She didn't even _want_ to know what he'd been up to while she and Daryl had been talking to Rick.

She climbed onto the back of the motorcycle behind Daryl and he handed her the helmet. She slipped it on while Merle cackled at her side.

"What'd y'all find out from Officer Friendly?" He asked. "I know ya didn't tell 'im what's _really_ goin' on. So what kinda half-assed lie did'ja come up with this time?"

Beth wrapped her arms around Daryl's middle and the bike's engine roared to life, drowning out Merle's voice.

He was still trying to ask her where they were going as they pulled out of the parking lot and sped away from the Sheriff's Department. Then he had no choice but to disappear until they stopped again.

**to be continued...**


	29. Merle's Fourth Favorite Kind of Hole

**Merle's Fourth Favorite Kind of Hole**

The drive to Merle's cabin was longer than Beth had anticipated. She'd assumed the cabin would be on the outskirts of Senoia, probably out in the boonies or something. But Daryl drove them clear out to the deepest part of the holler, taking backroads and sketchy paths that she'd never even known existed despite the fact she'd lived here for her entire life.

She began to wonder if they were lost when a cabin came into view off in the distance. She didn't even notice it until they were about a half-mile away, thanks to all the trees and tall grass that surrounded it and practically concealed it from view.

As the bike slowed and pulled over to park on the side of the dirt road out front of the cabin, she took in their surroundings. This was the _real_ holler—the parts of the Georgia countryside that she rarely ever visited because there was barely any cell service and it was way too easy to get lost. The parts her daddy had always warned her to stay away from because of the presence of dangerous wildlife and even more dangerous 'unsavory folk.' There were miles and miles of thick woods all around, and the rolling fields were overgrown with wild grass and flowers. Everything was beginning to turn from green to yellow, though it remained lush as ever.

She reckoned it only made sense that the cabin would be out here. It was practically off the grid, more than a dozen miles away from any sort of human life or civilization. She thought it might've been originally built as a hunting cabin or something like that, but of course Will Dixon had bought it and utilized the discreet location to his advantage; he'd operated a moonshine business—among other ventures—for nearly three decades without ever being detected by law enforcement or located by enemies. It was perfect for a guy who wanted to live off the land and not be bothered by pesky police or nosy neighbors. She could guess that Merle and Daryl had been the only two who'd known the exact location of this place.

It was eery to gaze at the front of the cabin from the edge of the road. Beth couldn't help but remember viewing it from Merle's eyes. Seeing it in a dozen crime scene photos had made it feel all that much more ominous. Forbidden, in a way. The knowledge of Morgan's visions only made that feeling heavier.

She knew they were supposed to be here, that they had to go inside and see… _something_. But not knowing what was lying in wait for her was unsettling. What could they possibly find in this old cabin that would make her _stronger_? What kind of answers were they supposed to find? It just looked like another old cabin to her.

There was no yellow caution tape to be found anywhere. And though the grass was overgrown, it did appear to have been cut within the last couple of months. There was a noticeable path of stomped-down grass that led straight to the steps of the front porch. Beth recalled seeing an old bench and a rocking chair sitting on the porch, but those were gone now. The curtains were all pulled shut and the place looked dark and empty under the early afternoon sun.

Daryl parked the motorcycle and kicked down the kickstand before silencing the engine. Beth pulled off her helmet and stepped off, stretching her legs as she stared at the cabin. She couldn't stop looking at it—studying it, recalling it from the vision and the photos. A chill ran down her spine as soon as she took a step into the grass.

She wondered why Merle hadn't appeared yet, though that question quickly fled as she decided to take advantage of the moments she'd been given that were blissfully free of his presence. Maybe he didn't find the location of his death to be a very savory travel destination, or maybe he'd taken a lesson from their visit to the Swamp Witch and wanted to avoid confronting the inevitable truth about his murder—whatever it was, she didn't care. Any time she didn't have to suffer through his wretched commentary was a blessing.

Beth tore her gaze away from the cabin and turned back to see Daryl rifling through the bag hanging off the side of his bike. "So now _everybody_ thinks we're dating—except Maggie."

She couldn't resist bringing it up. The way he'd lied to Rick had been stuck in her mind since they drove away from the Sheriff's Department. And to think she'd denied the same claim so vehemently to her own family…

Daryl grunted without looking up, actively searching through the bag for something. "Rick ain't _everybody_."

She rolled her eyes and said, "No, but my dad an' brother already think we're dating. Even though I told 'em we're _not_. Rick's gonna end up tellin' 'em—"

"_What_?" He snapped impatiently as he began pulling out random objects and setting them atop the motorcycle seat in order to make his search easier. He didn't look up. "What's he gonna tell 'em? What they already assumed? BFD. Rather they think we was datin' than thinkin' I'm sellin' ya bad drugs or somethin'."

"BFD?" Beth asked cluelessly.

He sighed, wrist-deep in the darkness of the bag and still not finding what he was looking for. "It means big fuckin' deal. What—you afraid yer daddy's gonna _disown_ ya fer goin' out with some no-good Dixon boy?"

She rolled her eyes again, huffing out a breath of frustration. "No, of course not. 'S just—"

"Calm down, Greene. It don't mean nothin'," he grumbled. "Just doin' what I gotta do ta keep us _both_ from bein' admitted to a mental institution. Don't go gettin' some schoolgirl crush on me over a little white lie."

"_Hah!_" Beth barked out humorlessly, though her cheeks were turning red. She frowned and said, "Don't flatter yerself, Dixon."

He grumbled something under his breath that she couldn't decipher, but she chose to ignore it regardless.

Beth glanced at the front door of the cabin, then back to Daryl. He was still actively searching for whatever was hiding at the very bottom of his bag.

"Y'said you sold this place, right?" She asked, eager to change the subject.

"_Uh-huh_," he grunted. "Some city slicker gun nut with too much money, sold it to 'im over the phone 'cause he lives in Chicago. He wanted it fer huntin'. Said he ain't gonna be usin' it but a couple months outta the year."

"Oh," Beth said, watching as he finally found whatever he was looking for and triumphantly pulled it out of the bag. "I'm guessin' he's not comin' out this month."

Daryl chuckled, pleased to have finally succeeded, and shoved everything else back into the bag. "Nah. He was out here las' week ta hang up his guns an' put some IKEA shit inside. I'on't think he'll be back till Christmas."

"So—you got a spare key?" She asked, hoping they wouldn't be trespassing again—_or_ breaking and entering.

He held up what he'd just procured from his bag: a silver house key. Then he smirked. "Yup. Dumbass didn't even ask fer both copies."

"That's lucky," she commented, silently thanking God that they wouldn't be breaking down any doors today.

"Nah," Daryl said, pinching the key tightly between his forefingers. "Jus' smart."

He approached her and then brushed past, gesturing for her to follow. And she did, through the grass and up to the porch.

"What?" Beth smirked, slowly climbing the squeaky wooden steps close behind him. "Like you _knew_ you'd need ta keep the spare?"

Daryl shrugged and glanced back at her over his shoulder. "Didn't know. Jus' had a _feeling_."

_Been having a lotta those lately, _she wanted to say. But she bit her tongue instead.

Daryl was slipping the key inside the lock on the front door when Merle appeared.

"'Bout damn time we start gettin' down ta business," he remarked. "What'd y'all see in those files, anyhow? You even know what the hell yer lookin' for in here?"

Beth gave him a shrug and watched Daryl turn the knob and push the door open. He stepped inside and she paused in the doorway.

"_He_ seems ta know," she whispered to Merle.

Merle groaned and reluctantly followed her.

The air inside the cabin was stale and musty and everything was covered in a thin layer of dust. The sunlight leaking in through the curtains illuminated clouds of microscopic debris as it was disturbed by Daryl and Beth's presence. The floors and walls were all made of thick dark wood. The furniture was sparse and looked brand new, and though the walls were bare save for a couple of newly-hung paintings that looked like they'd come straight off the shelves of the nearest Cabela's, there were still numerous yellowed silhouettes from where different photos had previously been mounted for years.

All-in-all, the house was small: a square living room with a fireplace, a narrow kitchen off to the right, a tiny bathroom to the left, and straight ahead was a closed door that led to the only bedroom. There was no backdoor nor any other porch; the three other outside walls of the cabin were surrounded by tall grass and lush, shady trees.

Daryl took a moment to flip on every switch and pull open every set of curtains, willing as much light as possible upon the dim interior of the small cabin. He had a look of determination set on his face from the moment he'd stepped up onto the porch. Beth opted to stand back and let him search for whatever he was looking for, lingering near the front door with Merle at her side as she took in every detail of the home he'd once occupied.

The dead Dixon didn't seem particularly ecstatic about being back inside the house where he'd been killed. Beth could feel his apprehension like a low frequency vibration within her bones.

_The place where Merle's soul left his body,_ Morgan's voice echoed at the back of her mind.

Merle frowned and looked around with obvious displeasure, arms crossed over his chest as he grumbled incoherently under his breath. Beth could only guess that he was pissed with how the new owner had redecorated. She was resisting the urge to talk to him while Daryl was around, hoping to give the living Dixon some peace and quiet so he could focus on the task at hand.

Not to mention, she was wary of how Daryl viewed her when she was talking to someone he couldn't see. It had been a little different at Morgan's—under the circumstances and all—but now, it just made her feel _weird_. And a tad crazy. And she could only imagine that he felt a bit left out and confused whenever he witnessed her little one-sided conversations. That wasn't the precedent she wanted to set; Beth didn't want Daryl to think of her as the weird girl who was constantly talking to his dead brother in front of him. Things were weird enough already without throwing that aspect into the mix. So she resolved to be more apprehensive.

Even when they were lurking around Merle's final residence—_especially_ when they were lurking around Merle's final residence. There were much more telling details to be observed than could ever be revealed by the sarcastic ghost of the eldest Dixon spawn.

It didn't take Beth long to spot nearly every bullet hole that Sheriff Grimes had pointed out in the crime scene photos. The living room walls were littered with them, as was the bathroom door and part of the kitchen. The front door appeared to have been recently replaced with a sturdier model, though she could imagine what the old one had probably looked like. The only door without any bullet holes was the one leading to the bedroom.

"This place looks like shit," Merle spat.

Beth shot him a glance with raised eyebrows and lightly shrugged. She wanted to quip, '_Probably looked even more like shit when you owned it._' But Daryl was nearby so she resisted.

Merle seemed to read the unspoken sentiment on her face and rolled his eyes in response.

Then she realized that Daryl had stopped moving around. He was standing in front of the bedroom door, his back to her. She waited for him to open it but he remained motionless in place, as though he were contemplating his decision.

She watched him for a long moment, until Merle began scoffing impatiently.

"You okay?" She asked quietly.

Her voice echoed around the silent room with a weight that Merle's no longer seemed to possess. Daryl's back stiffened and he raised his head without glancing back at her.

"Yeah," he growled. He cleared his throat and reached out to grasp the doorknob.

Then he was pushing the door open and stepping inside, his footsteps light and tentative. He flipped on the lightswitch and a single dim bulb came to life above. Beth waited until he'd taken three full steps into the bedroom before she followed.

Merle's old bedroom—the place where his soul left his body once and for all—held a foreboding sensation within its walls. As soon as her foot crossed the threshold, Beth could feel a heavy weight invading her chest and settling in to occupy the space between her heart and lungs. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end and a trail of goosebumps formed along her arms. She tried to ignore it, but it was impossible; a chill ran up her spine and wracked her body with a shiver. She forced the sensations away, shoving them back as she entered the bedroom and willfully ignored the wrenching of her gut.

_It's just because I know what happened in here,_ she told herself.

But in all honesty, she knew that wasn't it. She could feel Death itself. She could sense its presence, she could detect the residue of its brief stay within this bedroom. It was something so palpable that she was certain any person who ever entered this room would sense it. How could they not? Death left a trail—like the scent of noxious perfume—in its wake. And it was so very obvious.

Or maybe it was only _truly_ obvious to the Gifted.

Beth wasn't sure if Daryl could feel it, but judging from the way all of his muscles tensed up and his hands clenched into fists, he probably could. Then again, this was the place where he'd found his only brother hanging from a noose. Stepping foot back in here was probably like reliving that day over and over, she reckoned. Her chest grew heavier with guilt and empathy.

Without hesitation, she stepped up to his side and reached out for one of his clenched fists. She grasped it in her hand and willed it to relax, and when he turned his head and stared down at her with watery blue eyes, she offered a sad but hopeful smile. Then his hand was clasped in hers, clammy and stiff yet willing all the same.

"I know you didn't wanna come back here," she whispered, watching as he quickly glanced away and began gazing at the upper walls, towards the ceiling.

He grunted. "Gotta do what I gotta do."

"What're we lookin' for exactly?" Merle loudly pondered as he wandered over to the corner and inspected the new bed that was pushed against the wall. "I know he done found all the drugs I had in here. What else _is_ there?"

Beth pursed her lips and shot him a glare that said, _Just shut up and be patient._

He sneered and turned away to begin investigating the knick knacks sitting atop the dresser.

She knew his sudden willingness to be quiet and cooperative was only because of current circumstances—the fact that they were back at the crime scene, actively looking for any sort of direct evidence pertaining to his life and his murder. Which meant it would be short-lived. Once they so much as thought about veering off course for a moment, or looking into something that didn't put Merle Dixon in the spotlight, he'd start complaining again. So she had to take advantage while it lasted.

She understood that Daryl was having a hard time, but she needed him to have a clear head and an open mind. It wasn't like the murderer was just going to pop up at them out of nowhere and reveal himself.

"D'you see that bullet hole you were talkin' about?" She asked, her eyes darting around the ceiling and upper walls in search of clues. She spotted multiple holes, just like in the photos. But none of them meant anything to her. They all looked the same.

"Bullet hole? I wasn't _shot_," Merle commented without turning around.

Daryl grunted, though she couldn't tell whether it was affirmation or not. He let go of her hand and stepped away but she remained where she stood, watching as he pulled open the curtains on all three of the windows. Bright afternoon sunlight poured in and illuminated all the dust. The bedroom became more visible, the holes in the walls and the scuffs on the floor more prominent. The new furniture stuck out like a sore thumb against the age-worn interior.

Daryl was meandering around near the far wall, looking up and down as he inspected the old wood's wounds, when something caught Beth's eye from through the window. She tore her gaze away from the ceiling and stared out the window, through water-stained glass and the thick greenery outside. A flash of movement made her heart skip and her eyes widen.

She silently stepped forward until she was directly in front of the window and peering through the glass. From here, she could see the field behind the cabin. It was overgrown with tall grass, but she could clearly make out a small structure nestled within the trees in the distance. It was mostly concealed by the woods, but it looked like a shed of some kind. She narrowed her eyes and stared harder, searching for what had caught her attention in the first place.

Then there was another flash of movement. She blinked and two big black dogs appeared, standing together beside the shed. They were staring back at her from amongst the shadowy trees, their eyes glowing bright red. They were completely still.

Her breath hitched in her throat and her blood went cold in her veins. They bore a striking resemblance to Papa Legba's Hellhounds.

"Daryl," she squeaked, unable to tear her gaze away and turn to him.

She heard him shifting his weight before he responded, "Yeah?"

"Look. _Hurry_," she hissed, bringing up a shaky hand to point out the window while her eyes remained locked on the black hounds.

He shuffled over to her and gazed out the window, following her finger to see what she was pointing out. The dogs didn't move. Their red eyes didn't blink. Daryl grunted indifferently.

"Wild dogs—so what?" He said.

Beth finally peeled her gaze away from the window and turned her head to look up at Daryl, incredulous. "Wild—_no_! They're the Hellhounds. They have _red eyes_, Daryl!"

Daryl shrugged. "Prob'ly jus' dogs."

Merle popped over to see what they were looking at. He cackled.

"Ain't nothin' there, blondie," he remarked before stepping away, very disinterested. Not that he would've admitted to seeing Legba's signature hounds anyway.

Beth turned and looked out the window to find that the dogs had indeed disappeared. She furrowed her brow and frowned.

"Gone now," Daryl said, as though that solved it. Then he stepped away and resumed his quiet investigation.

But Beth's stomach was suddenly twisting and churning painfully. Her heart wouldn't stop hammering inside her chest. She looked out the window again in search of the black dogs, but there was no trace of them. She _knew_ she'd seen them. It wasn't her imagination—it _couldn't_ be.

But what did the appearance of the Hellhounds mean? Surely nothing _good_. Right…?

She didn't get more than a moment to contemplate it before Daryl was making a sound of surprise and gesturing for her to come look. She did, approaching tentatively to stand at his side and stare up at the small hole in the wall that he was pointing at.

Merle joined them, standing just behind Beth and watching curiously. He was tenser now than before she'd mentioned the Hellhounds. She could feel it.

"Here," Daryl explained, indicating the bullet hole. Though to Beth, it looked no different than every other hole in the bedroom's walls. "This wasn't here before. It's newer—don't look like one'a Merle's shots neither. He didn't own no gun that coulda made a hole like this."

Beth squinted and leaned a bit closer, examining the hole. "You… sure?"

"Positive," Daryl insisted. He traced the outer edges with his fingertip. "Shit looks like a Colt .45 or somethin'. Couldn't tell in the pictures, but I can see it now. I knew it looked _wrong_."

This particular bullet hole was in the wall directly beside the far window, less than six inches away from the curtain. It was about a foot over Beth's head, which she guessed must mean that it had been made either by someone tall or by an upwards aim of the weapon.

Or maybe she was just overthinking it, making ignorant assumptions based on way too many episodes of _CSI_ and _Law & Order_ and _Dexter_.

But now that she was thinking about it… _really_ thinking about it… She glanced back around the room, at all the other holes in the walls: they were all at about Merle's height. Some of them were obviously shot from odd angles, a couple of them may have even been made from a sitting position. But this one was _different_.

"So yer brother never owned a Colt .45?" She asked, peering up at the hole curiously.

She figured if anyone knew weapons and the marks they left behind, it was probably Daryl. She had no reason to doubt his inference.

"Nah," Daryl replied. "Never liked 'em. Always loved 'is Desert Eagles."

"Damn straight," Merle remarked, laughing proudly. "Colt .45's fer _pussies_. An' wannabe cowboy vigilantes like yer _boy_, Officer Friendly." He scoffed.

Well, that was a more definitive answer.

Beth reached up and stretched her arm out to lightly graze her fingertips across the hole in the wall. She wasn't sure why—it just seemed _right_. Like a reflex, or like maybe she'd be able to feel the telltale difference that Daryl felt.

Instead, she felt a shock of electricity, as though she'd just stuck a fork into an outlet. At the same time, there was a deafening _bang_ in her ears and a steel grip tightening around her throat. She tried to flinch back but her entire body was suddenly frozen. All her muscles went stiff. Every bit of energy she possessed seemed to leak out of her all at once.

The only sound she could make was a small gasp. Then the air was sucked out of her lungs. She couldn't breathe through the unseen death-grip around her throat. She turned her head to look at Daryl for rescue only to find him gazing down at her with a quizzical expression. She tried to say his name, but she couldn't find her voice.

She felt herself falling. She couldn't reach out to him for help. Then she blinked and he disappeared.

Everything else disappeared, too. A deep blackness swallowed her up.

The last thing she heard before she succumbed and went under was Daryl's frantic voice echoing in her ears, "Beth—_Beth_?!"

And Merle's breathless cry behind him, "_Blondie_! What the f—"

Then everything went silent.

**to be continued...**


	30. Don't Make Me Haunt You

**Don't Make Me Haunt You**

The blackness faded and filled with an entirely new scene.

It was just like being swept into Morgan's crystal ball and witnessing Merle's arrival at The Crossroads.

Except, it _wasn't_.

Beth couldn't move, couldn't speak, couldn't blink or breathe. All she could do was watch, standing by helplessly as the scene played out before her. At first, she had no idea what had happened or where she was. She was completely disoriented and filled with fear.

In the next second, a thousand different memories shuffled through her mind like a deck of cards.

And then it was _different_: she remembered what had happened, she knew exactly why she was here and what she was seeing. She was in control of her thoughts, able to comprehend what was playing out before her eyes.

She recognized the bedroom of the cabin.

It wasn't dark and cloudy like The Crossroads. It wasn't the same as seeing a vision of the past from another plane of existence. It was a vision of the _recent_ past—on the _mortal_ plane.

She could feel Merle even before she spotted him. He was alive.

She didn't breathe. She stood back, listening closely.

And she watched.

_Merle's bedroom was a disaster area. The floor was littered with empty beer cans and liquor bottles, crushed cigarette packs, paper plates, and other assorted trash—as was every other surface within the small room. There were clothes tossed about everywhere, mostly draped over the dresser drawers, which were all either hanging out of their slots or sitting on the floor. The closet seemed to be the only space that wasn't cluttered or trashed. Inside hung an assortment of various rifles and handguns amidst stacks of boxes labelled Ammo. A large crossbow was mounted on the inside of the open door. _

_Late evening sun leaked in through the curtains. In the bed, beneath a few pairs of paint-stained jeans and a tattered old comforter, Merle lay sleeping. His scar-riddled back was turned to the door and he was snoring loudly, the sound echoing through the entire cabin. He was alone._

_Then a man appeared in the doorway. His footsteps had been silent. He was tall, fair-skinned with a head full of thick, graying brown hair that had been slicked back with greasy gel. He watched Merle's sleeping form for a long moment. A mischievous smirk formed on his thin lips. His beady blue-green eyes darted around the room, then they narrowed._

_Without making a sound, the man strode forward into the room, straight to the bed. His pace was slow and cautious but there was a slight limp in his left leg. Nonetheless, he moved around completely undetected._

_First, he grabbed the Desert Eagle that was openly sitting out on Merle's bedside table. He shoved it into his waistband. Then he silently opened the drawer of that same table and pulled out two more handguns. Merle kept snoring away, completely undisturbed. The brown-haired man stepped back and shoved the other two guns under the bed, beneath a pile of wadded-up old shirts._

_After that, he took another glance around the room, seemingly satisfied. Though as his eyes skimmed over Merle, he paused and frowned. Then he hesitantly reached out and slipped the tips of his fingers beneath the pillow that currently cushioned Merle's unconscious head. He pulled out another handgun—like he'd been expecting to find it there—and silently shoved it under the bed with the others. All without disturbing Merle._

_Finally, he took a step back, gave one last disgusted look around the room, and opened his mouth._

"_HEY!"_

_Merle didn't budge. He snored louder._

_The man rolled his eyes and sighed. Then he leaned down and yelled, "WAKE UP, ASSHOLE!"_

_This time, Merle jolted awake. The man took a few more steps back and watched Merle turn over and instantly reach for his bedside table. He blinked, disoriented, when he couldn't find the weapon he was grasping for. Then he quickly reached under his pillow, only to come up empty-handed there as well. He shot up to a sitting position and noticed the man._

"_The fuck—"_

"_Lookin' for this?" The man drawled in a light Southern accent, revealing the Desert Eagle tucked into his waistband. _

"_Gimme my fuckin' gun, asshole!" Merle cried, still blinking the sleep from his eyes. "Who the fuck're you?!"_

_The brown-haired man chuckled and shook his head, pulling out the gun and holding it loosely at his side. "I'm an old friend of your daddy's."_

_Merle scoffed. "Dixon's ain't __**got**__ no friends—get outta my goddamn house!"_

_The man smirked and glanced down at the trash lying around his feet. He kicked a can out of the way and said, "Oh, you're your father's son, alright. White trash at its finest."_

"'_F you want my Pa, best go dig 'im up," Merle snapped. "I ain't got nothin' for ya. Now get the fuck out 'fore I take that gun an' shove it up yer ass."_

"_You won't be the one shovin' anything anywhere today, Merle," the man said calmly. His smirk widened into a smile. "I __**know**__ your daddy's dead. That's why I'm here. He __**owes**__ me—which means __**you**__ owe me."_

_Merle rolled his eyes, obviously disinterested. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. You ain't the first fuckin' loan shark that's come knockin' since that ol' prick bit the dust. But I ain't got nothin' for ya, so best you jus' hightail it on outta here 'fore that pretty li'l mouth a yers goes writin' a check yer ass can't cash."_

_The man's smile didn't falter. His blue-green eyes narrowed, flashing bright with malevolence. He chuckled. "That's not how this is gonna end. Someone might've found Will an' killed him before I could, but I know they weren't looking for what he was __**really**__ hiding."_

_Merle rubbed his eyes and gave an exaggerated yawn. "Uh-huh, sure. I heard it all before, bub. Ain't nothin' ta be found. My pa was a dumb piece a shit an' everything he ever had that was worth a fuckin' thing—well, here it is. Yer standin' in it."_

_The man shook his head. "No, there was somethin' else. And I have a feeling that you know exactly what I'm talkin' about, Merle Dixon. You just don't wanna pay up."_

"_Pay up fer __**what**__?!" Merle asked, his patience beginning to run thin. "Ain't no fuckin' money, dumbass! Ain't no drugs that I didn't already sell! Yer barkin' up the wrong tree!"_

"_We had a deal, goddammit," the man said, his voice growing angrier and his smirk fading into a frown. "Your daddy never paid his debt—now that debt is __**yours**__! Where's the fucking money, Merle? Tell me now and I might not kill you."_

_At that, Merle laughed. Loudly. He was still grinning when he asked, "Oh, y'think __**you**__ get ta be the one that kills me?" He cackled and shook his head. "Nah, fuckhead, I ain't got no money for ya. Hidden or otherwise."_

_The man hesitated, his voice firm and edged with impatience. "So who killed him?" He asked as his hand tightened around the Desert Eagle._

_Merle cackled. "__**I**__ did. What's it to ya?"_

_Fury flashed across the tall man's face and he let out a growl, leaping forward and shoving the barrel of the gun against the underside of Merle's jaw. Merle barely flinched, staring up at the stranger with narrowed eyes and a defiant scowl. This was nowhere near the first time he'd had a weapon shoved in his face._

"_Then yer gonna tell me where your piece of shit pa's __**fucking**__ money is hidden," the man demanded, his voice low and threatening. "Or I'll blow your fucking __**brains**__ out right here."_

_Without a word, Merle leapt forward and out of bed, standing to his feet and letting the comforter fall away. The brown-haired man stumbled back in surprise. When he realized Merle was completely naked, he took another step back, sneering in disgust with the gun still pointed towards Merle's face._

"_You gonna shoot a guy with his __**dick**__ out?!" Merle cried._

_The man finally looked away in disgust. "Put some goddamn pants on, redneck."_

_Merle cackled but did as he was told, bending down and purposely turning his ass towards the tall man while he rifled around on the floor for a pair of boxers. He quickly slipped them on and stood up straight, snapping the elastic waist loudly and chuckling with amusement._

"_So yer gonna __**kill**__ me jus' 'cause my dad owed you a couple bucks?" He taunted._

"_More than just a __**couple**__," the man clarified through a tensed jaw, Desert Eagle still grasped in his hand and aimed at Merle._

"_Now that jus' don't seem right at all."_

"_You know what's __**really**__ not right? How he went back on our __**deal**__. How he completely __**fucked**__ me after I stuck my goddamn neck out for his sorry, cowardly ass!"_

_Merle chuckled, hands on his bare hips as he stood in front of the bed casually. "So yer a scorned lover? I knew that sick fuck had a taste fer cock—"_

"_**No**__, you moron!" The other man interrupted with a scowl of repulsion. "He fucked me __**over**__! We made a deal an' as soon as it came time to pay up, he tucked tail and ran off into hiding." He waved the gun around to gesture to the cabin around him. "To this little shithole, I guess. Off the grid. Livin' in squalor, wallowing in his own filth day after day—like father, like son. There's no goddamn way you can convince me he spent all that money. I saw the little 'shine operation out back—I know what kinda __**entrepreneur**__ your daddy was."_

_Merle's smile faded and he shrugged. "You'd be surprised just how retarded Will could be. I seen him spend ten grand an' come out with nothin' ta show for it." He glanced towards the Desert Eagle warily. "But I ain't never heard 'im mention nobody he ever fucked over—an' he __**loved**__ braggin' about that shit. Didn't even throw me a hint when I was openin' his throat up."_

_He laughed coldly but the other man didn't seem amused._

_Merle frowned and demanded, "So who the fuck are ya?"_

_The brown-haired man's back straightened and he tipped his chin up proudly, glaring down his nose at Merle. "They call me The Governor."_

_Merle clicked his tongue. "Who?"_

"_The __**Governor**__."_

"_No, __**who**__?"_

"_What?"_

"_Who calls ya that?"_

_The Governor paused, blinking. Then he quickly responded, "People who cross me."_

_Merle laughed. "Oh. Okay. Well that ain't a name—sure as shit never heard Pa mention no __**Governor**__."_

"_I'm sure you didn't," The Governor scowled. "And why __**would**__ he mention me? He probably wanted you dead, too. __**And**__ broke. If you killed him, I'm sure he'll be more than happy to welcome you to Hell after __**I**__ kill __**you**__."_

_Merle smirked smugly and cackled. "Yeah, alrigh'—so you __**really**__ a governor? Or ya jus' wish you was?"_

_The Governor sighed and rolled his eyes. "Christ, get off it already. I have a __**gun**__ pointed at your __**face**__, maybe you should take this a little more seriously."_

"_Oh, I'm takin' it plenty serious," Merle quipped. "Jus' can't figure out why you'd choose The Governor an' not—I'ono, The __**President**__ or somethin'. 'The Governor'," he chuckled. "What are ya, some kinda half-assed comic book villain? Seems ta me like there's a lotta positions that're higher up—Senator, Congressman an' what-have-ya. Might come off a lot more menacing if—"_

"_The __**money**__, asshole!" The Governor cut in, his face bright red with anger and his grasp tightening around the gun. He cocked it and growled, "Last chance. I've been awful __**nice**__ so far. But if you keep running that ignorant mouth and __**not**__ tellin' me what I wanna know, I'll put a bullet through your teeth."_

_Merle laughed, crossing his arms over his chest. "Go on an' shoot. Ain't no rounds in there."_

_The Governor's face fell but he didn't lower the weapon. "Bullshit."_

"_See fer yerself, retard," Merle taunted._

_The Governor didn't oblige. Instead, he shoved the Desert Eagle back into the front of his waistband—much to Merle's disappointment. Then he pulled out a shiny black Colt .45 from behind his back. Merle's smile immediately disappeared._

_The Governor resumed his stance, aiming at Merle's face with a gritty expression of determination. "I know you fucking have it. I know how you inbred, backwoods rednecks operate. I know you have that __**goddamn**__ money, Merle. Stop playin' these stupid games and give it up… before I pull this trigger an' spray your brains all over this sad little cabin."_

_Merle narrowed his eyes and gave a cocky, tight-lipped smile. "You keep makin' threats an' I keep tellin' ya the same thing: Ain't __**got **__no money, dickweed. Only one playin' games is you. So fire away."_

_There was a beat; a moment of tense silence._

_Then Merle added, "If you got the balls, __**Guv'na**__."_

_The sound of metal on metal echoed through the room as The Governor cocked the Colt .45. Merle's face fell and he stared down the barrel that was aimed at him from less than three feet away. The Governor's arm stiffened and he smirked._

"_I've got more than enough balls for the both of us, Merle Dixon," he said._

"_That's kinda ga—"_

_There was a deafening __**bang**__._

_Merle winced and instinctively threw his arms up to guard his face. At the same time, he barked out, "__**Ha**__! Missed me, assh—"_

_But he was cut off by a sharp __**crack**__ across his temple. It wasn't a bullet, but it was hard. And painful. It rang through his skull and sent him crumbling to his knees._

"_You shut the hell up now."_

_A second later, Merle was lying unconscious at The Governor's feet._

_The Governor gazed up at the small hole his discharged round had made in the wall right next to the curtained window. But it didn't look any different than the dozens of other bullet holes that marred the cabin walls. At least not to him._

_While Merle was unconscious, The Governor retreated to the living room and returned with a duffel bag—he'd come prepared. He pulled out a zip-tie, and once Merle's hands and feet were adequately restrained, he got to work utilizing the rope he'd brought. The bag was heavy, full of various other objects that never emerged. The Governor worked quietly, methodically, scoping out the bedroom and plotting his scene just right._

_Merle still hadn't regained consciousness by the time The Governor was done. So the brown-haired man went about rummaging through the bedroom, as well as the rest of the cabin. He rifled through every drawer and every pile of clothing and trash and clutter. He yanked out all the dresser drawers to no avail, growing more frustrated with every minute. Near the end, he seemed to be searching for no more than a clue at best. He even went as far as opening every Ammo box inside the closet, as though there might be some kind of hidden note or cryptic sign waiting for him. _

_When the entire cabin refused to reveal what he was so desperately searching for, he became furious. He paced back and forth across the hardwood floor, limping stiffly, stroking his Colt .45, huffing and puffing and glaring. He grumbled under his breath, cursing Merle and Will and every Dixon who'd ever lived or ever __**thought**__ of living._

_No-good fucking inbred hillbillies, two-faced goddamn traitors, selfish pieces of __**shit**__. What the hell had he been thinking, making a deal with a man who'd never held a steady job in his godforsaken fucking life? And now he was stuck with the spawn of Satan himself, Merle fucking Dixon, who would undoubtedly never tell him shit about the money—even if he __**did**__ actually know where it was. What a clusterfuck of absolute nonsense. How had he ever let himself get so low as to scrape the bottom of the barrel like this? But the money… Christ, the __**money**__. It was all he had left. It was his only chance at a life worth living anymore. And it was out there somewhere. He wouldn't let nearly three decades of searching go to waste._

_Even Will Dixon wouldn't have been able to spend that much fucking money. Not when he knew The Governor would inevitably be arriving any day to collect his debt. With interest._

_The sun was sinking behind the horizon by the time Merle finally came to, leaving slivers of orange beams slipping in through the curtains. The Governor turned on the bedroom light, letting the dim bulb illuminate his setting. Merle sat leaned against the wall and he grumbled unhappily as his head bobbed and slowly raised. The Governor stood over him, Colt .45 tucked into the back of his pants. He'd already returned the Desert Eagle to its usual spot on the bedside table._

_Merle blinked and looked around in confusion for a moment, disoriented. He registered the zip-ties around his wrists and ankles, giving a half-hearted yank against both restraints to no avail. He grunted angrily. Then he scowled and glared up at The Governor with icy blue eyes._

"_I'ono who taught you how ta negotiate," he muttered. "But ya skipped a helluva lotta steps."_

_The Governor smiled down at him menacingly. "Negotiate? Oh, we're well past that, Will Junior."_

_Merle growled and spat on The Governor's shiny black boots. "__**Fuck**__ you. You don't fuckin' know me, asshole."_

_The Governor took a small step back, unfazed._

"'_M startin' ta think you didn't know my shithead pa neither," Merle went on. "You think he didn't spend every fuckin' dime he had 'fore he even had it? You stupid __**fuck**__."_

"_That's enough," The Governor said simply._

_He took a meaningful step to the side and glared down at Merle, watching as the Dixon slowly looked up and noticed the noose hanging from the ceiling. Merle's anger disappeared and his face fell. Icy blue eyes flicked over to meet an emotionless green gaze. The Governor smiled._

"_Yer gonna fuckin' __**hang**__ me?" Merle croaked out, growing paler by the second as he registered the calculated maleficence in the taller man's expression. "Jesus Christ, what is this—the Wild fuckin' West? Just shoot me an' get it over with."_

"_Why would I do that?" The Governor asked, still smiling as he folded his hands behind his back very leisurely. "When I can make it look like a suicide and avoid all the complications?"_

_Merle narrowed his eyes and gave a hearty yank against the zip-tie around his wrists. It didn't budge. He scowled and said, "You think anybody's gonna believe I killed myself? All the cops 'round here __**know**__ me."_

"_Oh, do they? I certainly don't doubt that," The Governor taunted. He chuckled coldly and went on, "And what d'they know about you, exactly? That you're a drunken piece of shit with a drug addiction? That you're a racist, misogynistic womanizer with an endless criminal record? That you're alone —completely and utterly __**alone**__—with a sad little life, no job to speak of, and nothing to your name but a shitty run-down cabin riddled with trash and bullet holes?"_

_Merle was sneering up at him but The Governor smiled back wider._

_He raised his eyebrows. "You've lived all these years and you have absolutely __**nothing**__ to show for it, Merle Dixon. I've never met you before, yet I already know you… Because you're just like your father. Just as violent, just as addicted, just as hateful and ignorant—and just as fucking __**worthless**__."_

"_Yer an awfully presumptuous asshole, ain'tcha?" Merle growled. "Talkin' outta yer ass like a fuckin' know-it-all. Guess that stupid name suits ya after all, doesn't it."_

_The Governor laughed coldly and shook his head. "No. I just know a Dixon when I see one. No one will question it when they find __**you**__ hangin' by your neck. Hell, you'll be lucky if anybody even comes out here before your disgusting body has rotted off the rope. And they won't give it a second thought—the sad, lonely, old drunkard who smoked a little too much meth an' decided to end his own life. Another one for the books, another toe tag, another unclaimed corpse in the city morgue… You're nothing but a waste of space."_

_Merle was grinding his teeth, glaring up at The Governor with an icy death stare._

_The Governor's smile widened in satisfaction. "__**No one**__ will care that you died, Merle Dixon. In fact, I'd bet that there are at least a dozen people who would be better off if you were dead… Just like dear old daddy."_

"_Go to hell," Merle growled._

_The Governor threw his head back and laughed. Then he said, "No. __**You**__."_

_Merle straightened his back and squared his shoulders, refusing to break his intense eye contact with the other man. "I'ono how ya think yer gonna find that money if you __**kill**__ me. Dead men don't talk—didn't anybody ever tell ya that?"_

"_They did," The Governor grinned. "And they also told me that only __**dying**__ men tell the truth."_

_Merle opened his mouth to sling out a retort but before he could, The Governor was reaching down and grabbing him by the underarms, forcefully hoisting him up to his feet. Merle fought back for a moment, struggling and resisting, but his zip-tied wrists and ankles made it nearly impossible. He became winded and agitated, cursing the taller man and grunting with every shove and pull._

_A few minutes later, he was standing on the only dining chair he owned with the noose around his neck. His wrists were still bound behind him, his ankles tightly restrained together. His face was bright red and he was practically frothing at the mouth with anger._

_But he stood completely still, unwilling to risk wobbling the old chair beneath him. The fibers of the rope were digging into his skin, itchy and irritating. He breathed heavily through his nostrils, jaw clenched and spine stiff as a board._

_The Governor stood before him, gazing up at him thoughtfully with his hands folded behind his back once more. There was a smug satisfaction on his face, though his eyes glinted with hunger. He looked frighteningly determined._

"_You know how I met your daddy, right?" He drawled, as though he were starting a casual conversation._

_Merle scoffed, glaring down at The Governor with pure detest. "The fuck if I know. I'm guessin' he came beggin' you fer a loan an' skipped out 'fore you could come collectin'. Musta been a lotta fuckin' money if yer goin' ta this much trouble."_

_The Governor's smile faded. "I'm not some loan shark, moron." He raised his eyebrows. "Your father and I made a __**deal**__—years ago. While you were overseas."_

_Merle blinked and scrunched up his nose, realization slowly crossing his face. "The fuck… what __**kinda**__ deal?"_

_The Governor quirked a brow. "I'm glad you asked—although I'm disappointed that you really don't know. You're tellin' me Will Dixon didn't confess his crimes even with that blade against his throat?"_

_Merle's frown deepened. "Wasn't nothin' __**to**__ confess. I already knew 'bout everythin' he did. That's why I let 'im bleed out."_

"_So you knew that your own mother's life paid for this shitty little cabin you're livin' in?" The Governor asked flatly._

_Merle blinked. "Didn't need __**him**__ ta tell me. Ain't as dumb as I look."_

"_So, what—you thought he bought some kind of extravagant insurance plan with his __**own**__ money? With his own __**business**__**skills**__?" The Governor barked out a humorless laugh. "As if that trailer and her life were actually worth more than twenty or thirty grand __**combined**__?"_

_Merle didn't respond. He clenched his jaw, the muscles of his neck tensing against the rope. His face was bright red._

"_Even your baby brother's __**life**__ wouldn't have gotten much reimbursement," The Governor went on. "And he __**survived**__, despite our extensive planning. That knocked out a chunk of the reward, but there's still a hefty amount to be had for me—for my part. I made an __**investment**__. And your deadbeat daddy ran off with it."_

"_You were in on that whole __**fuckin'**__ thing?" Merle growled, his teeth clenched so tightly that they looked about to break. "Burnin' that trailer, killin' my mama, __**tryin'**__ ta kill Daryl?"_

_The Governor smiled proudly and nodded. "Of course I was. Your pa was nowhere __**near**__ smart enough to pull it off on his own. Shit—he wouldn't have even __**thought**__ of it if it weren't for me, for __**my**__ suggestion, for my __**expertise**__."_

_Merle glared down at The Governor with nothing less than murderous contempt. His adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, his lips pursed into a thin line._

"_That's right," The Governor continued, beaming like he was proud of himself. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and explained, "Back in the day, ol' Will an' I used to frequent the same shithole bar outside of town. Selling insurance in Senoia isn't a lucrative business—hell, it barely paid the bills. I never would've associated with scum like him if it weren't for being stuck in the same shitty position, in the same shitty little town. We got to talkin'—about life, about jobs, about money. About… __**ideas**__. Lemme tell you, he was one unhappy man. He hated __**everything**__ about his situation: the crumbling trailer he had to sleep in every night, the old truck he had to fix every two days, the nagging wife who couldn't learn to keep her mouth shut, the whiny little brat at home that wanted to eat fifteen times a day… and the disappointment of a son who'd up an' joined the military at the last minute, just to flee overseas and shoot at towelheads for thirty grand a year. He had a million and one reasons to sit in that bar night after night, gettin' so blind drunk that he could barely drive home. And there I was… listening. Until one night—"_

_Merle groaned loudly, rolling his eyes. "For fuck's sake, you really gotta give a villain __**monologue**__? That's played out, man."_

_The Governor frowned, but went on anyway, "__**Until one night**__, I proposed a plan. I offered to make an investment that would earn us __**both**__ a well-deserved payday. And my oh my, was he eager to jump on board."_

_Merle huffed out an agitated breath, sneering down at the other man. But he remained silent._

_The Governor continued, "It was simple enough: take out the largest property and life plans that were available, insure the trailer and Leanne and little Daryl for the worst possible outcome. It took a few hefty payments, but we managed it—thanks to my savings and all of Will's income from those drugs he was sellin'. The profit margin was __**more**__ than worth it though, so I happily contributed. We worked out every last detail until it was foolproof—which it had to be, since he was such a hopeless idiot… Your mama loved her smokes, especially around bedtime. That gave us a solid foundation. No one would think twice about some white trash housewife catching her own house on fire with a forgotten cigarette. The kid was the real __**challenge**__—we had to do a bit of brainstorming for that part. But we figured it out. If his bedroom was locked and the fire started right next door in the dead of night, he would never wake up in time. We reckoned he'd die of smoke inhalation before he could even make it into the hallway. Just to be safe, Will gave him a dose of Benadryl in his TV dinner that night."_

_He paused and frowned, reminiscing unhappily. "Lord only knows how that little __**bastard**__ managed to wake up. Will should've thought to lock the window, too. Stupid prick. I __**told**__ him to take absolutely __**every**__ precaution… but he never was any good at followin' directions." He sneered, glancing away as he thought about the deceased Will Dixon._

_Merle's face had gone red with repressed fury and he was very clearly biting his tongue. Yet somehow, he kept his mouth shut and listened, watching every evil word dribble from The Governor's pale lips._

"_Regardless, those plans on the trailer and his wife left a generous payout," The Governor said. "Nearly a quarter-million, to be exact. __**More**__ than enough for the both of us. Christ, the American Red Cross even gave that scumbag temporary shelter and helped him pay the deductible." He chuckled as though he were recalling a funny memory. Then he went on, "As soon as the investigation was closed and the insurance check was sent out, I went to meet him. We were supposed to split the money and go our separate ways without a word of our little deal. But when I went knockin' at his motel room… he was gone. Without a goddamn __**trace**__. And he took every last __**fucking**__ dime with him. I looked high an' low, scoured every disgusting inch of this shithole town, talked to every hillbilly and illiterate redneck I could find—and __**nothing**__. That backstabbing piece of shit __**eluded**__ me. I had no choice but to move on, seein' as I'd spent everything I had left on a payout that I was never gonna see… __**Years**__ without a hint of where he could've run off to with __**my**__ money."_

_Merle barked out a crude laugh. "An' the whole time, he was livin' out here in the holler—jus' like every other bootleg 'shiner that ever fuckin' existed. Ya __**dumb**__**fuck**__."_

_The Governor's eyes flashed emerald with rage and his jaw stiffened. "__**I'm**__ not the dumb fuck who moved into my daddy's __**stolen**__ cabin—paid for with __**blood**__ money. I found it eventually, didn't I? Despite almost thirty years of hiccups. And all thanks to __**you**__ killing him. His obituary popped up and from there… well, here I am. Better late than never—isn't that what they say?"_

"_Yeah, they also say too little, too late," Merle snapped. "Whatever money there was's long gone by now. Dumbass didn't have a goddamned thing to his name 'sides this cabin an' the still out back."_

_The Governor smirked. "You're a terrible liar, Merle."_

_Merle rolled his eyes with exasperation. "__**Wish**__ I was lyin'. You think if I had that kinda money, I'da stayed here? __**Fuck**__ that. I'd be in Miami by now, hittin' up every strip club they got an' gettin' day drunk on the beach."_

"_I don't doubt that," The Governor said. "But you would never leave your precious __**brother**__ behind high-an'-dry."_

_Merle immediately argued, "Daryl's dead."_

_The Governor laughed like he'd told a joke. "Bullshit."_

"_Nah, he is," Merle insisted. "Pa killed 'im a few years ago. Finished that sloppy job he started with the trailer fire."_

_The Governor's smile didn't waiver. "You're even worse at lying than the worthless __**dickhead**__ that spewed your existence into a woman's cunt. You think I didn't do my research? I __**know**__ little Daryl reached adulthood, despite our better efforts. I __**know**__ you still associate with him… I also know that if you don't tell me where the money is, the weakest Dixon most __**definitely**__ will. Why, I'd bet a hundred grand that it wouldn't take so much as a __**noose**__ around his neck to get him to spill his guts."_

_Merle smirked and huffed out a breathy laugh. "Alright—ya caught me. He ain't dead… But good luck gettin' anything __**useful**__ outta his sorry mouth. You know as well as I do that he wasn't Pa's favorite. Wasn't even __**mine**__—I jus' took __**pity**__ on 'im. He got sick a my shit a couple years back. Hauled ass outta Senoia an' Georgia altogether. Last I heard, he was livin' in Chicago… or maybe it was Detroit. One a them cities full a coons. I'on't fuckin' remember. Ain't talked to 'im in I'ono __**how**__ long."_

"_That's a little more feasible," The Governor drawled. "But I still don't believe it. You are __**not**__ a persuasive storyteller, Merle Dixon."_

"_An' yer not a good __**deal**__ maker," Merle spat. "Guess we both got our faults."_

_The Governor's smirk disappeared and he glared at Merle with contempt, clearly growing impatient. "Where's the money, Merle?"_

_Merle shrugged, pushing his wrists out hard against the zip-ties to no avail. "Ain't no money, Governor. How many times I gotta tell you that?"_

_The Governor sneered. "Yes, there __**is**__. And your cesspool-inhabiting father hoarded it somewhere. And you __**know**__ where. So you might as well just tell me before I kill you and move on to your brother."_

_Merle quirked his mouth into a crooked half-smirk. "'F I don't know where it is, the fuck makes ya think __**Daryl**__ does? Even if ya __**could**__ find him—which __**I**__ couldn't, so good fuckin' luck—he ain't gonna have no clue what yer talkin' 'bout. He don't even know that he was s'posed ta die in that fire. You'd be the firs' one ta tell him our pa planned the whole thing."_

_The Governor hmphed and muttered, "Bullshit. All you spout is __**bullshit**__, Merle."_

"_Maybe so," Merle quipped. "But not __**this**__ time. I'm yer last fuckin' chance at findin' this money—how the hell you gonna track it down otherwise? Will was a weird bastard. Wasn't no rhyme or reason ta his li'l games. God only knows where that fuckin' money might be stashed. If it ain't already __**spent**__."_

"_Stop __**lying**__ to me," The Governor growled through clenched teeth, eyes narrowed and set on Merle with a deadly determination. "I am __**not**__ the gullible idiot your father thought I was. If you don't tell me where the money is, you'll hang… You'll __**die**__ in this sad, lonely, disgusting cabin with __**nothing**__ to show for it—and no one will bat a fucking __**eye**__."_

"_Huh," Merle grunted, sucking on his teeth. "Funny thing is, I ain't __**scared**__ a you. Go on an' kill me. I don't give a fuck. Even if I __**did**__ know where the money was… well, shit. I'd rather __**die**__ knowin' it was buried somewhere nobody'd ever find it than know that you got __**yer**__ slimy hands on it. Ya greasy-haired fuck."_

_Suddenly, The Governor leapt forward and reached out a large hand. He wrapped it around Merle's throat, right below the noose, and tightened his grip until Merle was choking out a gasp. His eyes were wild and filled with rage, flashing from emerald to azure, his face inches away from Merle's. He squeezed and Merle gasped for breath, then he reached the other hand up and grasped the rope, tugging on the noose to intensify the pressure on Merle's throat._

"_You stupid __**fucking**__ redneck," The Governor hissed, his breath hot on Merle's face. "You'd rather __**die**__ than bargain for your __**pathetic**__ life?"_

_Despite his lack of air, Merle managed to choke out spitefully, "Y'don't know me as well as you think, asshole. I'd __**die**__ just ta __**piss**__ you off."_

_The Governor sneered and tightened his grip, fingernails cutting into the skin of Merle's upper shoulder. "So your daddy was right after all, huh? When he told me that you'd sell your own __**soul**__ for no more than a lapdance an' a pack of smokes."_

_Merle inhaled sharply through his nose, but The Governor purposely gave his throat a squeeze and cut it short. Merle repressed a cough and wheezed out, "Depends on who's givin' the lapdance."_

_The Governor's eyes flashed angrily and he appeared displeased by that response. He squeezed Merle's throat a little tighter, his fingernails cutting a little deeper into Merle's skin, and tugged on the rope threateningly. "I am going to __**kill**__ you, Merle Dixon. This is the part where you tell me what you know and __**beg**__ for your __**life**__."_

_Merle grunted and tried to breathe through the constriction on his windpipe, determined not to show any weakness. He smirked. His voice was no louder than a whisper, breathless and choked, as he responded, "I ain't __**beggin'**__ you. 'F you kill me, swear ta God I'll haunt the ever-livin' __**shit**__ outta you."_

_Just like that, The Governor released his grip on both the rope and Merle's neck. He stepped back, then he laughed and folded his hands behind his back once more, eying Merle up and down with renewed intrigue. He smirked._

"_You think there's somethin' after this, Merle?" He asked all too casually. "You think you'll have any kinda __**power**__ left once I extinguish the last weak flame of your existence? Because __**I**__ think—if there's anything waiting for us after death—that you'll shoot straight down to the __**lowest**__ pits of Hell. And, God willing, you'll be forced to suffer through your father's company for the rest of eternity… If the afterlife offers any sort of actual __**justice**__, that is."_

_Merle shifted uncomfortably in place, the rope itching against his tender neck while the chair wobbled unsteadily beneath his feet. He took several deep breaths, trying to compensate for the oxygen he'd lost while The Governor's hand was wrapped around his throat._

"_Guess we'll jus' have ta find out, won't we?" He rasped defiantly._

_The Governor chuckled and paced in place with his hands folded behind his back, shaking his head. "You are a tough nut to crack, I'll give ya that. But everyone has their __**breaking**__ point…"_

_His gaze flicked up and settled on Merle's, his mouth set in a cocky tilt. Merle scowled back._

"_Tell me where the money is, Merle. Or else you'll be at the top of a long list of people you care about that I have to kill. And I __**really**__ don't wanna kill all those innocent folks." He quirked an eyebrow. "Especially that __**brother**__ of yours—the only one left to carry on the Dixon bloodline… D'you __**really**__ wanna be the reason for your family's name dying out?"_

_Merle grunted, his expression remaining stoic. "Nice try. Like I give a flyin' __**fuck**__ about our family name. Couldn't name a single goddamn person I care about. Do whatever ya want. Ain't gonna make ya no __**richer**__."_

_The Governor appeared disheartened for the briefest second and he quickly turned away, stepping over to the bed. He tossed aside the comforter and moved around the pillows until he found what he was looking for._

_As he stepped back over to stand before Merle, he unlocked the touchscreen phone with one thumb and began searching through it. Merle's wrists were pressing against the zip-ties again, fingers wiggling and stretching and straining to release himself. But it was pointless._

"_Dunno whatcha think you'll find on there," he said, warily watching The Governor scroll through his phone. "I'on't save numbers. That's jus' a burner phone."_

"_Oh yeah?" The Governor remarked with disinterest, eyes glued to the small screen in his hand. "These nude photos are dated from over a year ago. You can't __**afford**__ to be usin' burner phones." Then his mouth curled into a mischievous smile and his gaze flicked up to meet Merle's. "Here we go—only two contacts saved. Daryl an' your dealer. How convenient."_

_Merle frowned. "Wha' makes ya think it's my dealer?"_

"_Because it says 'Jesse: Meth And Weed.'"_

"_Oh," Merle grunted. "Well he ain't nothin' but a dealer, you leave him be. Boy don't even know my last name. He's good people."_

_The Governor rolled his eyes. "Don't worry, I have no interest in your little junkie buddy. Daryl, on the other hand—"_

"_That's an old number," Merle said. "Never deleted it. He los' that phone 'fore he even left Georgia."_

_The Governor paused for no more than a second before tapping the screen and putting the phone up to his ear. "We'll see about that."_

"_He ain't gonna—"_

"_It's ringing," The Governor snapped, holding the phone tighter against his ear. Merle shut his mouth and waited, his hands clenching into fists behind his back. _

_A few seconds later, The Governor pulled the phone away from his ear and tapped the screen to end the call. He was smirking with satisfaction. "It went to voicemail, but it's certainly not disconnected. Maybe he'll call back."_

"_Don't hold yer breath," Merle quipped. "Actually—yeah, go on an' hold yer breath. Do us all a favor."_

_The Governor paid him no mind, though. He simply retrieved his own phone from the pocket of his pants and copied the numbers from Merle's phone into his contacts. Then he tossed the old touchscreen device back onto the bed, making sure to leave the ringer on at a loud volume. Just in case Daryl happened to return his missed call._

"_You realize it's prob'ly somebody else's number now, right?" Merle said. "I might be full'a shit, but I ain't the type ta lie 'bout keepin' in touch with my dumbass li'l brother. All he ever did was slow me down, I got sick of—"_

"_No matter how much __**bullshit**__ icing you try to slather onto your __**bullshit**__ cake, I'm still not gonna eat it, Merle," The Governor cut him off sharply. He laughed coldly, shaking his head. "You can weave all the lies you want, but that's __**not**__ gonna stop me from killing you __**and**__ your brother. The Dixon's are a plague, an infestation. Y'all need to be __**exterminated**__."_

"_I've lied about a lotta shit in my life," Merle argued. "But jus' trust me on this one—you'd be wastin' yer time. This ain't it, Governor. Me an' my pa mighta been nothin' more'an a couple oxygen thieves, but Daryl ain't none the wiser. He's too fuckin' stupid fer his own good. He's __**barely**__ even a Dixon—that's what Pa always said."_

_The Governor shrugged, clearly unconvinced. "Who better to trust with the family's newfound fortune than the one asshole that wouldn't know what to do with it? Maybe I __**am**__ wasting my time… on __**you**__. Maybe I should've __**started**__ with Daryl."_

_Merle clucked his tongue. "Woulda took ya longer ta get here. I'm tellin' ya, yer never gonna be able ta find his sorry ass."_

"_I won't __**have**__ to," The Governor quirked his brow. "If you stop pussyfooting around and just tell me where the goddamn __**money**__ is."_

_The last of Merle's humorous demeanor faded. Despite his dry, raspy throat and the rope digging into his neck, he spat on the floor in front of The Governor's feet. He glared daggers down at the other man and growled, "There. Is. No. __**Money**__. Asshole."_

_It was obvious that The Governor was particularly perturbed by disrespect such as this, but he retained his composure all the same. Though his eyes were flashing murderously and his cheeks were flaring red and pink. His jaw clenched and he looked Merle up and down, scrutinizingly slow. His hands were behind his back as he took a leisurely step forward and paused. Then he took another. Until he was inches away from Merle, gazing up at him almost thoughtfully._

_Merle tensed but didn't react. His fingers were still straining to reach the ends of the zip-tie around his wrists._

"_You know what I think?" The Governor asked, his voice so low that he was practically whispering._

_Merle cocked his mouth to the side in a crooked scowl. "No. But I bet yer gonna tell me anyway."_

"_I think," The Governor continued unfazed. "That your pa kept our little deal a secret from you for a very long time. I think you found out… And I think it was the last straw—a lifetime spent under the heel of an abusive father, the only family you've ever had to rely on, the only person you ever looked up to even though he beat the crap outta you on a regular basis, the only human you ever __**trusted**__. Hell, learning that he was the reason for your beloved mama's early demise would send __**any**__ red-blooded man over the edge." He smirked smugly, searching Merle's expression for the reaction he was so eagerly anticipating. "Yeah… I think you lost your temper with all that cursed knowledge in your head. I don't think that blade openin' up your daddy's throat was some premeditated calculation; I think you acted outta __**rage**__—like __**your kind**__ is so prone to do. I think you put two-an'-two together… finally. And then? Well, I think you asked him the same thing I'm askin' you today: __**where's the fucking money?**__"_

_Merle's breathing was shallow, his eyes glazed over and set on The Governor, his face hard and blank._

_The Governor raised his eyebrows and his smirk grew into a smile. "The money that your mother paid for with her life. The money that nearly took your only brother from you. The money that you were rightfully __**owed**__—just for being Will's son. The inheritance you __**deserved**__ after suffering through his wretched existence for __**your**__. __**entire**__. __**life**__."_

_Merle's nostrils flared. His hands went completely still behind his back._

"_And he told you __**exactly**__ where you could find it," The Governor drawled. "Didn't he, Merle?"_

_Merle lifted his chin and narrowed his eyes, unblinking. There was a beat. Then he growled, "Yeah. He told me where it is."_

_The Governor perked up._

_Merle smirked and let the moment draw out. He blinked long and slow._

_Finally, he said, "Up yer ass an' around the corner."_

_He laughed loudly as The Governor's face turned dark red with fury._

_Merle's guffaws were abruptly interrupted by The Governor's hand giving the noose a hard upwards yank. Merle coughed and gasped for air but The Governor didn't appear amused in the slightest._

"_Last chance," The Governor barked out, releasing his grip on the rope._

_Merle coughed and sputtered, but as soon as he was able to speak again, he mouthed off, "Yer the worst fuckin' interrogator I ever met. I already know yer gonna kill me whether I tell ya or not, so why the fuck would I say __**shit**__?"_

"_Because I'll hunt your brother down and watch him bleed out at my feet," The Governor said coldly. "Just like you an' your __**pa**__."_

_Merle tensed. The chair wobbled unsteadily beneath him._

"_You __**know**__ where it is," The Governor added, smirking like he'd just been told a secret. "And that leads me to believe __**Daryl**__ does, too. So why should I waste any more time listening to your loud, putrid mouth when I have another option?"_

_Merle swallowed hard and his neck flexed against the rope. The feigned confidence in his voice was all but transparent as he said, "Don't doubt you could get away with killin' __**me**__, but killin' sweet li'l Daryl? __**Never**__. You'd get locked up. Can't spend __**all**__ that money on Top Ramen an' hair gel—be a damn waste anyhow."_

_The Governor flinched like Merle's statement had physically jolted him. But he quickly regained his composure and stared at Merle with deadly intent. His hand slowly tightened around the rope once more. He gave it a light tug and Merle choked out a half-grunt._

"_If you give two shits about your only brother's life, you'll tell me where the money is right now," The Governor said._

_Merle froze. But he still didn't say anything._

_The Governor released his grasp on the rope and took a step back, eyes still set firmly on Merle._

"_You're going to __**die**__ today, Merle Dixon."_

"_I'd rather __**die**__ than give in ta some beady-eyed, greasy-haired cripple like __**you**__."_

_The Governor huffed out a breath of amusement. "I hope it's worth it—everyone that's gonna __**die**__ because you're so goddamn __**hard-headed**__."_

"_Killin' Merle Dixon'll be the biggest fuckin' mistake you ever made, asshole. Mark my words."_

_The Governor laughed. "Is that so?"_

"_In more ways'an one." Merle jerked his chin upwards, half a threat and half an invitation. "Don't __**make**__ me __**haunt**__ you."_

_The Governor let out a hearty laugh. He shook his head and put his hands on his hips, standing before Merle and giving him one last contemplative look. His smile faded momentarily before it flickered into a malicious upwards tilt of the mouth._

"_I'll see you in Hell."_

_And with that, he kicked out hard at the chair with his right leg. It went tumbling backward, skidding across the wood floor and toppling over to land on its back several feet away._

_Merle didn't get the chance to respond with something smart-assed like "not if I see you first" or "I'll save you a seat." Which he undoubtedly wanted to._

_His entire body tensed up and his feet dropped out beneath him. The noose eagerly embraced his neck._

_There was a loud, sickening 'crack!' that echoed through the bedroom. It was immediately followed by Merle's choking gasps and the squeaks of the ceiling beam as he thrashed and writhed at the end of the rope._

_The Governor stepped back and watched, the same cold and calculated smirk plastered to his face. His eyes seemed to light up at the sight, flashing from emerald to azure to jade._

_Moments later, Merle Dixon took his final rasping breath. His body went still. His empty, lifeless blue eyes gazed upward blankly. The rope swayed slowly from side to side, bare toes dangling no more than a foot above the hardwood floor. _

_The Governor grinned._

"_Say hi to your daddy for me. I'll send Daryl down real soon."_

**to be continued...**


	31. Make Way For The Dream Team

**Make Way For The Dream Team**

Beth's eyes shot open, but the blackness still consumed her. The Governor's cold and emotionless voice was still echoing in her ears.

A second later, it faded away. The absolute silence returned. Colors and shapes dribbled into her vision, filling everything around her like liquid pouring into an empty glass. She gasped for air and relief flooded her system as sweet, sweet oxygen entered her lungs once more. Her throat felt raw and her neck burned like it was chaffed, as though she'd been the one wearing a noose. Her head raced and throbbed painfully, the ache gradually ebbing away as she blinked and took in her surroundings and inhaled one deep breath after the other.

Daryl's face was the first thing she saw. He was directly in front of her—well, more like _above_ her—and inches away from her face. He was staring down at her, pale and distraught. The feeling was coming back to her body and she realized she was lying on the hardwood floor of Merle's old bedroom. She registered one thick arm cradling the back of her neck while a separate large hand gripped her upper arm. Daryl was holding her head up off the ground with one arm while his other hand grasped at her bicep, weak and trembling.

Then she saw Merle. He was on her other side, crouching down to loom over her much like his living brother. And to her surprise, there was a similar expression of shock and fear on his face. Though it immediately changed the moment he saw her eyes open and heard her gasping for air. He let out a sigh of relief and stared down at her with a look that she couldn't quite interpret—something between indignation and concern.

For the first couple of seconds after The Governor's voice faded out and her vision returned to normal, Beth couldn't hear anything at all. She saw Daryl's and Merle's mouths moving, but there was no sound. She couldn't even hear the air around her head or the light buzz that constantly filled every room she'd ever occupied. Then it all returned very rapidly.

"—you hear me?! _Beth_!" Daryl's voice was frantic and more high-pitched than Beth had ever heard it. He was lightly shaking her, urging her to respond. "Christ, _say_ somethin'! _Please_!" There were tears pooling in his eyes and his cheeks were ghostly pale.

Merle didn't seem to have been pleading with her to wake up quite as desperately as his brother had. Like he somehow _knew_ what she'd been experiencing. His tone was nowhere near as panicked—though it was shaky and uncertain all the same. "Blondie—_Greene_, you back with us?! You here again? Daryl's 'bout ta call nine-one-one an' I _know_ you can't afford that ambulance bill."

She had to swallow hard past a knot in her overly dry throat, and her lips were painfully chapped, but she managed to croak out in a rasping voice, "I—I'm fine. I'm fine."

Was she, though? Whose voice was that ringing in her ears? Why did she black out? All she could remember was trying to reach out for Daryl before falling backward. Now she was on the floor and both Dixon brothers were freaking out.

Daryl breathed out with relief but didn't relax. "_Fine_? This ain't what I'd call _fine_. You got low blood sugar or somethin'? Was it a panic attack? Did'ja faint? I was about ta call an ambulance—should I go ahead an' call?"

Beth blinked rapidly and shook her head, struggling to find strength and push herself up to a sitting position. Merle leaned away and took a step back, though his eyes remained set on her. He seemed to be studying her, tongue in cheek as he squinted and gave her a scrutinizing once-over.

"No," she told Daryl, accepting his help when he offered his arm as support for her back while she sat up. "Don't—don't call anybody, I'm okay. I… what happened?"

"Yer eyes rolled inta the back a yer head an' you fuckin' fell over," Daryl said. "Ya nearly cracked yer damn skull open—scared the _shit_ outta me."

"You _saw_ somethin'," Merle chirped. "Didn't ya?"

Beth looked at Merle and he smirked, nodding his head. She blinked, frowning.

Did she? She couldn't remember. But she had a feeling that he was right. It was like waking from a vivid dream only to forget every single detail of the dream two seconds later; she knew she'd dreamt, she knew she'd experienced _something_ because of how heavy her chest felt and how raw her throat was, but she simply couldn't access the memories. As soon as she'd opened her eyes, whatever she'd seen—wherever she'd _gone_—had slipped through her fingers like smoke and dissipated just the same.

She shook her head, as if that might kickstart her brain into remembering. But all she could recall was the blackness.

"Yeah," Merle muttered. "You saw somethin' _good_… I can _feel_ it."

"I don't…" She let out an exasperated breath, allowing herself to lean against Daryl's arm while her strength slowly returned. "I blacked out, I guess."

She shut her eyes for a long moment and felt Daryl's arm slipping away from her back, his hand releasing her bicep, and without thinking, she reached out to grasp him for support. He obliged and she placed her hand in his, leaning on it heavily as she stood up. He wrapped a strong, broad arm around her lower back automatically, assuring that she could stand and steadily balance on her own two feet. His face was still pale, but the color was beginning to slowly return to his cheeks. His dark blue eyes remained wide and watery.

"Sorry," Beth apologized, gripping Daryl with both hands to retain her wobbly balance. Her entire body felt like it had just been electrocuted or something. And Merle's ominously knowing gaze wasn't helping to alleviate the sensation. "I didn't—I didn't mean ta scare you. I'ono what happened…"

"You know _exactly_ what happened," Merle said.

"'S fine," Daryl said. "Jus' wanna make sure yer really okay. You sure I shouldn't call somebody?"

She shook her head. "No, no need ta call anybody." Then she glanced at Merle to find him quirking a brow, arms crossed over his chest expectantly.

The weight in her chest grew heavier and her heart sped up, though she wasn't sure why.

She shut her eyes tight and silently told herself, _Get it together. It's a Gift, not a curse. What did I see? I touched the bullet hole, I went somewhere else. I saw something. Remember. Just remember. I __**have**__ to…_

She opened her eyes again and looked at Merle.

A quiet voice that was not her own whispered to her from somewhere in the back of her mind: _Here's not here. _

And suddenly, it all came rushing back to her.

For a split-second, she was bombarded with a slew of images: Merle's lifeless body swinging from a rope, the cold and calculated glint in The Governor's eyes, the dim glow of the single bulb as it illuminated the noose around Merle's neck. She remembered the deafening gunshot, the _crack _of the butt against Merle's skull. She remembered every single word that had been spoken, every humorless laugh that had echoed within the small cabin, every movement and exchange between The Governor and Merle. She even remembered the way the setting sun had looked as it filtered in through the bedroom curtains.

Her blood went cold and a jolt of electricity shot through her bones, jarring her whole body. She grasped onto Daryl for balance once more and his arm tightened around her back, a bit surprised. He gazed down at her, still very visibly concerned.

Her face must've gone pale because Merle was eying her suspiciously.

"What'd ya see, Greene?" He asked. "Huh? What'd that _Gift_ show ya?"

She looked up at Daryl and he instantly registered the solemn and slightly fearful expression on her face. A crease formed in his brow and she could feel his arm tensing at her back, his grip loosening on her bicep. But he didn't pull away. His other hand remained grasped in hers.

"Wait—I _remember_," she breathed out, no louder than a whisper in the silent bedroom. "I remember the whole thing. I saw it."

Daryl appeared even more confused. "You… saw it?" He repeated. "Saw _what…_?"

Beth pushed past a quickly forming knot in her sore throat and croaked out, "The murder. I _saw_ it. I saw who killed Merle."

Merle made a huff of audible shock, eyes widening as they stared at Beth. Then a smirk of smug satisfaction curled his mouth upwards and his arms tightened across his chest, shoulders squaring with vindication.

"I _knew_ ya saw somethin' good."

Daryl was a little harder to read. His face fell and he stiffened, looking Beth up and down like she'd grown a second head. Then she saw his adam's apple bob as he swallowed hard.

"Who was it?" He asked, eyes dark with trepidation.

She squeezed his hand and replied quietly, "The Governor."

Merle laughed. "_What_?!"

Daryl stared down at Beth, even more confused than before. "Like—the _governor_ governor? Of Georgia?"

Merle laughed harder.

Beth quickly shook her head and explained, "No, not an _actual_ governor. He—he didn't say his name, he just _called_ himself The Governor."

Merle scoffed and rolled his eyes. "That's not a name. 'S barely even a _title_."

Daryl still looked befuddled. "I don't—okay, but'cha _saw_ 'im, right? _Clearly_? You saw 'is face?"

Beth nodded. "Yeah. I didn't recognize him, though. He said he used to work in Senoia, that he knew yer dad, but other'an that—"

"Wait," Daryl said. "He knew my dad?"

"Doesn't surprise me," Merle muttered, sucking on his teeth and eyeballing Beth with renewed interest.

She felt Daryl's body stiffening against hers and he was reflexively pulling away just the slightest. She squeezed his hand again, though she didn't try to pull him back toward her. She could balance perfectly fine on her own again and all the normal feeling had mostly returned to her muscles by now.

She hesitated, glancing at Merle to see the expectant look on his face before looking back up at Daryl and finding the same expression. But she remembered how Daryl had reacted when she'd delivered the message about Merle killing their dad, and a part of her feared a similar reaction to this news. She didn't want to see him shut down again. She didn't want him to lash out. She didn't want to see him hurt.

But he had to know.

"Can we sit down?" She asked.

He quickly nodded and guided her over to the bed. They both sat down on the edge of the brand new comforter, side-by-side with their thighs barely touching. His hands retracted to rest in his lap. Merle remained where he stood a few feet away, waiting and sucking his teeth impatiently. Beth began wringing her hands together, tentatively meeting Daryl's gaze once again.

"Sure you feel alrigh'?" He asked, concern still etched into his expression.

She nodded. "Yeah. I'm fine now."

He gave a clipped nod and pursed his lips. She could see the curiosity prevalent in his eyes and in the way he looked at her, like he was silently urging her to tell him whatever it was—no matter how painful it may be. He seemed to be tensing up, subconsciously preparing himself for the emotional blow.

Beth licked her dry lips and forced herself to maintain steady eye contact. Then she said, "The Governor said he used to go ta some bar outside town—whatever bar yer dad frequented. He said they got to talkin' and eventually… well, he helped Will plan the fire."

Daryl blinked but his face went blank.

Unable to gauge his reaction, she quickly continued, "The Governor helped set up the insurance plan, he helped pay for it. The whole thing was _his_ idea. He said his job was to sell insurance, but he didn't make enough money in Senoia. So he made a deal with Will to split the money—they planned it all out, started the fire an' made it look like an accident… You an' yer mom were supposed ta die because it would've made for a really big insurance payout."

Merle was completely silent. He turned away, as though he had something more interesting to look at on the other side of the room.

But Daryl's face was still blank. He blinked but his lips remained tightly pressed together. His jaw was clenched. Beth raised her eyebrows, giving him several seconds to say something—to say _anything_.

When he didn't show any intention of opening his mouth, she went on: "Your dad skipped out on him, took all the money an' went off the grid ta live in this cabin. He was hiding from The Governor, Daryl. And The Governor couldn't find him—till Merle _killed_ him. The obituary gave him everythin' he needed ta track Merle down."

She paused, expecting some sort of reaction. But there was none, just the same blank face.

So she continued, "He wants to know where the money is. The Governor is convinced that yer dad kept his half of the payout and stashed it somewhere, 'cause it was way too much fer Will to have spent it all… That's why he killed Merle—because Merle wouldn't give it up. The Governor _hung_ your brother and made it look like a suicide because Merle wouldn't tell him where the other half of the insurance money is."

Finally, Daryl's blank expression flickered. He turned his head and gazed over at a spot feet away. Beth wondered if he had any idea that he was staring at the exact place where his brother had taken his last breath.

Then he mumbled, "How _much_ money?"

She could hear the unspoken words beneath his tone: _How much money were me and my mom's lives worth? And Merle's?_

She took a shaky breath and responded, "The payout was a quarter-million. The Governor thinks half of it is hidden somewhere."

Daryl grunted but didn't say anything.

"But," she quickly added, attempting to sound optimistic. "Merle _swore_ he didn't know anything about it. He wouldn't even say whether it really exists or not."

Daryl slashed an arm through the air and turned his head back to meet her gaze, blue eyes narrowed. His face was quickly turning red and the anger was evident in his tone as he snapped, "So _ask_ 'im! Ask that dead fuckin' asshole if the money actually _exists_!"

Beth was struck silent and looked over towards Merle. She opened her mouth to ask him, just as Daryl demanded.

But before she could voice the question, Merle disappeared.

_You fucking asshole, _she thought, turning back to Daryl with hesitation.

"Well?" Daryl urged. "What's he say?"

Beth frowned. "He… disappeared."

"_What_?!" Daryl leapt up from the bed furiously, looking around the room as though he would suddenly be able to see his dead brother and kick his ass. He growled in frustration and glared down at Beth. "He fuckin' told that Governor asshole ta come find me, didn't he? I _know_ it—that selfish _prick_ sold me out ta save his own ass. _Twice_! He sent a goddamn murderer _and_ a demon after me! _Didn't_ he?!"

Beth gaped up at him in shock, glancing back over at the spot where Merle had been just seconds ago, hoping he would reappear and offer her some assistance for once. But she knew better than to expect any help from him.

She knew it would sound like she was trying to defend him again—much like back at Morgan's, when she'd excused Merle's thoughtless deal with Papa Legba as nothing more than ignorance. She knew Daryl wouldn't like hearing about any part of the scene she'd witnessed. Nonetheless, he had to know.

"No," she said firmly, mustering up all of her strength and channeling it through her voice. Her hands were trembling in her lap, but her tone remained steady and sure. "It's the exact _opposite_, actually."

Daryl's fury dissipated and his jaw clenched. He stared down at her with obvious doubt.

"When The Governor realized Merle wasn't gonna give up the location of the money, he threatened to track _you_ down," she explained as calmly as she could. "He said he'd kill Merle and then kill you, too. But Merle told him that you didn't even know about Will startin' the fire—he tried to convince The Governor that you had no idea the money had ever existed. And when The Governor didn't believe him, Merle _lied_: he said you'd died, but when that didn't work, he said you ditched him an' left the state ta move to Chicago or Detroit… somewhere far away."

The last traces of Daryl's anger faded away, leaving him standing before her with slumped shoulders and a look of bewilderment.

Beth raised her eyebrows and lowered her voice, eyes set on Daryl with intensity as she added, "He died tryin' to _protect_ you, Daryl. Merle did everything he _could_ ta keep The Governor from huntin' you down… and The Governor killed him anyway."

Daryl let out a deep sigh and turned away, shaking his head. She thought she could hear him choking back a sob but she couldn't be sure. Her heart ached for him all the same.

"You were right," she added, making a weak attempt at lifting the mood. He was refusing to face her and that made her uncomfortable, but she didn't know any other way to lighten the blow of all this new information. "The bullet hole—it _wasn't_ from Merle's gun. The Governor had a Colt .45. He made a warning shot at the wall. An' you remember that cut over Merle's eye? It was from the butt of a gun; The Governor cracked it over his head after he fired the warning shot. He knocked Merle unconscious an' put zip-ties around his wrists and ankles while he was out. And he… he strangled 'im. That's what those bruises an' fingernail marks were from. The Governor lost his temper an' choked Merle while he had the noose around his neck…"

Daryl still didn't turn around. His back stiffened, shoulderblades rippling beneath his winged vest.

"It wasn't the rough sex," she remarked, weakly smirking even though he wasn't looking at her. "But…"

"Y'saw all that?" Daryl grumbled without turning around, barely loud enough for her to hear. "Jus' from touchin' that hole in the wall?"

Beth cleared her throat and said, "Yeah. I guess so. It was like when we touched the crystal ball an' watched the deal with Papa Legba. I touched that bullet hole an' then it felt like I was bein'—I'ono, _electrocuted_ or somethin'. Then I blacked out and… I saw _all_ of it. I watched The Governor show up an' interrogate Merle. I watched Merle try ta fight back an' fail. I—I watched Merle _die_." She paused and swallowed hard, trying not to envision the scene as she described it. "The Governor kicked the chair out from underneath 'im. He _watched_ Merle hang. He didn't—he didn't _care_, Daryl… This guy is out of his mind. He's pure evil. He's _desperate_."

Daryl put his hands on his hips, literally giving Beth the cold shoulder. Though she could read his reactions even without seeing his face.

Her voice came out half-choked as she added, "He's _terrifying_. I—I'm scared of what he might do."

At that, Daryl finally spun around and faced her. His face was hard with determination, azure eyes narrowed and set on her.

"Fuck that," he growled.

She blinked and gave him a questioning look.

He nodded his head curtly, jaw squared, and reiterated, "I'on't care _who_ this fuckin' asshole is, we ain't gonna be _scared_ of him. _We're_ the terrifyin' ones."

Beth cocked her mouth to the side, half-tempted to smile. She looked up at him with slight disbelief.

"Don't look't me like that," Daryl growled. "Yer a goddamn _psychic_, an' I'm a mean redneck with one hell of an extensive weapons collection—this Governor prick oughta be scared of _us_. Let 'im come knockin'. We'll put 'is ass in a lake with cement shoes."

At that, Beth _did_ smile.

Then another memory popped into her head and a fresh wave of dread washed over her. She asked, "Yer phone—is it the same one you've had fer the last couple months?"

Daryl furrowed his brow in confusion but nodded. "Yeah, why?"

Her smile faltered and she said, "He called you. From Merle's phone."

Daryl's face fell. "That day…?"

She nodded weakly.

He cleared his throat and immediately reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone. She watched as he scrolled through it with squinted eyes and pursed lips. When he noticeably tensed a moment later, she knew he'd found the missed call.

"Few days 'fore I came out an' found 'im," he mumbled. His thumb hovered over the small screen as he stared down at it, an almost wistful expression on his face. "I missed it… I was workin'. Didn't… didn't leave a message."

"It wasn't _Merle_ that called," Beth clarified, her stomach twisting into a knot at the sound of Daryl's guilt-ridden voice. "It was The Governor. _Thank_ _God_ you didn't answer—he was tryin' ta prove you were alive, tryin' ta figure out if the number saved in Merle's phone was still yours."

Daryl's eyes flicked up from his phone to meet hers.

She went on, "Merle tried to lie an' say it wasn't yer number anymore, but The Governor didn't believe him. There were only two numbers saved: yours an' his dealer's. The Governor copied both of 'em. He has your _phone number_, Daryl."

Daryl nodded curtly and said, "An' we got a call from him on the same day Merle died—so it's evidence."

"No," Beth snapped. "We aren't _that_ lucky. It's from Merle's phone, so how could we ever prove that it was his killer? Fer all anybody else knows, it was just Merle tryin' ta call you one last time before he hung himself."

Daryl's mouth twitched and he glanced back down at the screen, tapping it with his thumb to brighten it back up.

"We don't have _any_ evidence," Beth said. "That's the _problem_. The Governor knew that nobody would second guess it if Merle committed suicide. He knew the authorities wouldn't care, and he knew that Merle didn't have anybody ta give two shits about him besides _you_… I saw The Governor's face and his limp, but that's it. We don't even know his _name_."

Daryl grunted. "So what? A face is enough. A nickname. We'll find 'im. Won't be hard."

Beth made a sound of disagreement, a bit incredulous.

"But can we find him before he finds _you_?" She squeaked out, swallowing hard and trying to retain her courage. The fear was building though, and she wasn't even sure that Daryl was fully grasping _why_ she was so afraid. "He didn't find what he was lookin' for here, but now he has your_ phone number_. An' I'm pretty sure he knows you still live somewhere in Georgia—he might even know you're still somewhere in Senoia. He's gonna come lookin' fer you, Daryl. He's gonna try ta _kill_ you… just like he killed Merle."

Daryl scoffed and waved a hand dismissively. "_Let_ 'im. Be the biggest mistake he ever made."

Beth sighed, reluctantly remembering how Merle had said something all too similar right before being hanged. She stood up from the bed.

"I think we need ta go tell Rick what we found out," she said.

Daryl took a step back and crossed his arms over his chest. "An' how ya think we're gonna do that without soundin' like a couple'a tweakers?"

Beth shrugged. "However we can. He's a pretty understanding guy."

Daryl quirked a brow. "Pretty understanding—when it comes ta _normal_ shit. Not shit like seein' _visions_ of people gettin' _murdered_."

She rolled her eyes.

"'S Merle back yet?" Daryl asked, glancing around like he might be able to catch a glimpse of his dead brother.

"No," Beth answered. "But we don't need him fer this. He can't even _remember_ dying."

"That's what he _says_," Daryl quipped. "How you know he ain't lyin' jus' like he lied to The Governor?"

She paused, bristling. She couldn't answer with full certainty because, Lord knew, Daryl had a point. He knew Merle even better than she did, after all.

But then again, she had a very strong feeling, which she vocalized: "I don't think _that's_ the part he's lying about."

Daryl grunted and it almost sounded like an agreement. Then he jerked his head toward the door.

"Let's go talk ta Rick then. If somebody's gonna come an' try ta kill me, we best give the sheriff a heads up."

**to be continued...**


	32. The Haunting of Shane Walsh

**The Haunting of Shane Walsh**

Morgan's vision had been accurate: as Beth and Daryl left the cabin, she felt _stronger_. There was a strange sensation flowing through her veins, almost like a newly ignited flame.

And it wasn't just the confidence from knowing that she'd managed to take a trip somewhere that those without Gifts could not travel; it was the knowledge that she'd come back, and that she'd found the ability to tap into the Gifts that lay dormant within her soul—she'd used it to her advantage and recalled everything that she'd been allowed to see. And now she was using it to help the Dixon brothers.

Hell, she almost felt like a real Witch. Could she be as powerful and Gifted as Eastman and Morgan one day? Or even Florence Newton?

Never, in a million years, could she have _ever_ guessed that the prospect of becoming a Witch would be a real possibility for her—let alone that it would sound as intriguing as it currently did. Seeing Merle's murder, knowing for certain that there was some sociopath walking free who wanted to hurt Daryl, had sparked something to life inside her. She'd never felt quite so passionate about anything before. Sure, his eternal soul on the line and a murderer walking free was a major motivator, but she was starting to think that even if that weren't the case, she would still want to see Merle's soul put to rest.

She wanted to help. She _needed_ to help. She'd never cared about something so much in her life. She'd never felt so in control and actually _capable_.

Should she look into getting a crystal ball? What would she call herself? The Farm Witch? The Witch of Senoia? No, no—it was way too early to be thinking like that. She was getting ahead of herself.

First thing's first, she needed to focus on using _all_ her Gifts, and learning how to manipulate them to her advantage. She needed to awaken all the abilities that had been lying dormant within her soul for all these years.

Something was telling her that this was just the beginning of a long journey that would inevitably lead her through multiple stages of self-discovery… both inward and otherwise.

* * *

There was a very subtle difference in Daryl's posture as he rode away from the cabin. Beth told herself she was imagining it, that she was picking up on frequencies that didn't actually exist and searching for cues that were no more than simple niceties. Yet she couldn't ignore the way he seemed to relax beneath her grasp now compared to how stiff and tense he'd been after leaving her house. Even his hands seemed to be grasping the handlebars a bit looser, a bit more content.

He revved the engine every chance he got and pressed down heavily on the gas after every stop sign. She wrapped her arms a little tighter around his middle and he seemed to lean back into her grasp, though she couldn't quite tell if it was just from the force of the wind or not. Regardless, the ride back to the Sheriff's Department felt much more brief this time around.

They parked in the same spot as before and climbed off the bike. Beth took off her helmet and shook out her hair, silently hoping that she didn't have helmet hair and that the wind hadn't completely destroyed her ends by now.

Not that it really mattered—who was she trying to look good for anyway? Rick? Yeah, right.

Merle still hadn't reappeared by the time Beth and Daryl entered the Sheriff's Department and approached the front desk. She was beginning to think it odd until Rick showed up, popping out of a door from off to the left of the glass-enclosed desk. Walsh was nowhere to be seen.

"Oh, good—ya got here quick," Rick said, breathing out a sigh of relief. He stepped forward and opened the door fully, nodding toward them both in greeting. "Didn't have a chance ta text ya back. Nice ta see y'all again."

Beth assumed Daryl must've texted Rick before they'd left the cabin. Maybe that was a good idea, she reckoned.

"Yeah—we uh, found out some shit," Daryl said, gazing at Rick skeptically.

"Oh yeah?" Rick asked, furrowing his brow. His gaze flicked over to Beth and that's when she noticed the look of tepid confusion in his eyes.

"Yeah," Daryl said.

Beth gauged the sheriff's reaction as she added, "You might find it kinda hard to believe, though."

Rick's expression didn't change. He locked his gaze on Beth and said, "Whatever it is, I'm sure it can't be any harder to believe than the crap that's been goin' on around _here_ today."

Beth glanced over and shared a look of confusion with Daryl.

"You talkin' about when Shane flashed us?" Daryl asked Rick.

Rick huffed out an incredulous breath. "Nah. Things got a lot _weirder_ once you two left."

Beth raised her eyebrows. Her first thought, of course, was _Merle_. What exactly had he been up to while they'd been talking to Rick and driving out to the cabin? What damage had he managed to cause?

"Well, you got a minute ta talk?" Daryl asked.

Rick nodded and stepped aside, gesturing for them to lead the way through the open door. "'Course I do. C'mon back."

* * *

Beth and Daryl stood hunched over behind Rick's desk, staring intently at his computer monitor with Rick sitting in his chair between them. They were watching recorded surveillance videos of the Sheriff's Department from a few hours ago while Sheriff Grimes explained the videos and expressed his immense confusion.

"Now see, this ain't so weird fer me since I know Shane's not the best at pickin' out a belt that actually fits—" Rick clicked the button on his mouse, replaying the moment on his computer screen when Walsh's pants were jerked down. Thankfully, the camera was angled behind him so they only had to see a second of his bare ass. "—but I mean, there wasn't anybody else in there with him, an' you two were on the other side of bulletproof glass. He's a moron though, so…"

He scoffed and shook his head, exiting out of the video and clicking a separate file.

Beth glanced over and saw Daryl smirking. Admittedly, she had a small smile of her own as she remembered how humiliated Shane had been. Though seeing it play out on the video like everyone else had seen it—without Merle's obvious presence—did make it look a little stranger than usual. His pants had come down with a bit of force, but Rick didn't seem to notice. At first glance, it could easily be played off as nothing more than a "wardrobe malfunction."

"But this…" Rick opened another video that he had to skip forward through. "Well, just see for yerself."

The camera was aimed down at the inside of a holding cell and its single occupant: a tall, slender, older man with a receding hairline and a thick dark mustache.

"This is Simon," Rick explained. "He's a notorious drug addict with a history of mental illness an' a tendency to forget to take the right meds. He's usually a non-violent offender; we gotta bring 'im in at least once a week fer disturbing the peace. We brought him in this mornin' 'cause he was walkin' down Main Street in his underwear. Scared the shit outta somebody's little girl. He was high off his ass on crack—last week, it was meth."

He held down the fast-forward button, skimming through several hours of Simon's inaction within the small holding cell. Simon paced a lot for the first few hours, fiddled with his jail clothes, picked at the walls and the floor and his nails. As was typical for someone who was strung-out and contained. Rick tried to skip past the times that showed Simon using the small toilet within his cell. He began to slow the video down once Simon resorted to sitting on the thin cot and restlessly fidgeting. It looked like he was beginning to come down from his high. Beth noticed the time stamp in the corner of the video: 12:42. She and Daryl had been speaking to Rick in this very room at that time.

"Anyhow," Rick explained. "He wasn't givin' us no trouble today. We were jus' gonna let 'im ride out his high an' give him a court date for indecent exposure since we got bigger fish ta fry. But a li'l bit after y'all left, he just started losing his fuckin' _mind_—started screamin' at us ta let 'im out, rattlin' the cell door, _demanding_ that we send him to County."

"So what?" Daryl asked, unsure of why they were still watching some random drug addict sit quietly inside his cell. "He's a crackhead. Erratic behavior's what they do best."

Rick chuckled and shook his head. "Nah, this was different. If you knew Simon like we do, you'd know that he'd cut off his own _dick_ before voluntarily goin' to County. There's a bunch'a guys he used ta run around with that're locked up over there. He's scared of gettin' shanked in the shower. An' once he comes down off the drugs, he rarely ever gives us any problems. When I finally went back there, his cell was a goddamn disaster."

He perked up and pointed to the monitor as the video continued to play. "Here—watch."

Beth and Daryl leaned down a little closer and watched. For several seconds, it was still Simon sitting quietly on his cot. But then, seemingly out of nowhere, dirty water began shooting outwards from the cell's toilet and directly into Simon's face. When he stood up and tried to step away, the thin mattress of his cot lifted and flew against the wall. The pillow hit the bars of the cell and bounced back to land on the floor. Simon scuttled over to stand in the corner, trembling, his hands covering his face defensively. Everything in his cell seemed to calm down simultaneously and after several seconds, he brought his hands away from his face and looked around cautiously. Then the sink next to the toilet abruptly broke, shooting a harsh stream of water directly at his face and knocking him on his ass. The video cut out and went black.

"That's all I got 'fore the camera malfunctioned," Rick explained. "That's another weird thing—the surveillance in the cells has never given us _any_ problems. Till now. We went ahead an' let Simon leave without any charges after 'bout half an hour of listenin' to him beg ta go to County. He was so shook up, he'd pissed his pants three times. Figured he earned a sleep in his own bed after all that."

Beth and Daryl were exchanging a knowing look, all wide eyes and pale faces. They both knew exactly what had caused this strange occurrence—but how could they ever explain it to Rick without sounding like drug addicts themselves?

And here Beth had been hoping that Merle was just kidding about "scaring the crackhead in the holding cell." He was starting to have a little too much fun experimenting with his newfound poltergeist powers.

"And that's not even the weirdest part," Rick muttered, turning his head and looking up at Daryl. "I wasn't gonna bother goin' back an' checkin' Simon's cell camera till the end of the day 'cause—ya know, he's _unstable_, coulda been makin' it all up… But then, right after y'all left, Shane came in an' claimed he's being _haunted_."

Daryl barked out a laugh but Beth froze. She pursed her lips and tried to hide any reaction that might've been showing on her face. She'd really, _really_ hoped Merle had been lying when he'd said he scared Walsh half to death.

"No, I'm serious," Rick insisted, quickly turning back to the computer monitor and clicking on a new file. "I thought he was full'a shit, too. Figured he was tryin' ta cut out early so he could go see whatever chick he's been datin' this week. But he looked… pretty goddamn _scared_. I sent him home an' checked all the cameras. Simon's cell was jus' the _tip_ of this weird-ass iceberg."

Another video began to play, this time from a camera mounted in the top corner of Shane Walsh's office. It showed Shane sitting at his desk with a stack of paperwork before him, reading glasses perched on his nose as he rifled through papers and jotted things down. He was the only one in the room and the door was closed. There was a music program open on his computer, barely visible on the monitor sitting on his desk, and he was bobbing his head lightly to whatever song that was playing. The surveillance video didn't have any audio, but the picture quality was good enough that Beth could squint and make out a playlist on Walsh's computer screen titled "_Sexy Cop Hours_." She stifled a laugh.

"I think this goes without sayin'," Rick said, lowering his voice. "But I shouldn't be showin' you any of these videos, an' I'd be awful disappointed if it ever got back ta Shane—I think he wants ta forget it entirely. He was real pale when I sent him home. Looked like he was gonna be sick, he was practically shakin' in his boots."

Daryl scoffed, smirking as his eyes remained locked on the computer screen. He almost looked excited. "Nah—we ain't gon' say nothin'. That's a given."

_Just wait till you hear __**our**__ little secret, _Beth wanted to say.

Rick cleared his throat and pressed the button of the mouse, fast-forwarding through a few minutes of Shane doing paperwork. Then he slowed the video to normal speed and pointed with one finger to a particular spot on the monitor.

"Now, watch this," he muttered. "This is the file Shane was workin' on. It's sittin' right here on the corner of his desk, right? Ain't nobody else around."

Daryl grunted in understanding. He and Beth leaned a bit closer, squinting and watching very closely.

Shane lifted his head and turned to the side, opening a drawer to retrieve a new pen. When he did, the open file on his desk slid off and fell to the floor, scattering dozens of papers. It looked to have been pushed off by some unseen force, though it could easily be explained as falling off from the movement of the drawer being opened. Shane shook his head and shut the drawer, taking off his reading glasses and setting them down atop the paper he'd been working on before standing and kneeling down to gather all the loose papers back up and return the file to its spot on his desk.

Rick paused the video and quickly pointed to the reading glasses. "Here—watch his glasses."

He pressed Play. While Shane struggled to retrieve all the papers that were scattered across the floor, his glasses were lifted from the surface of the desk and carried through mid-air. Then they were set down very carefully in a new spot, hidden behind the computer monitor.

"Oh, shit," Daryl whispered out.

"You _saw_ that, right?" Rick asked, his wide eyes glued to the video while his finger hovered over the button of the mouse.

"Was there… a window open?" Beth suggested weakly.

"No!" Rick scoffed. "Those damn things _floated_. Now wait—that ain't even the weirdest part. Keep watchin'."

_There's no way to explain this,_ Beth thought, her veins filling with dread. _Except the truth._

Nonetheless, she kept watching: Shane returned to his seat and settled in, prepared to get back to filling out paperwork. He quickly realized that his reading glasses were not where he'd left them. He checked the top of his head and the front of his shirt first, then glanced around at the floor and the area surrounding his chair. He lifted a few papers, moved a few folders, checked behind the keyboard. Finally, he located them behind the computer monitor. With a subtle shrug of "huh, weird" to himself, he slipped his glasses back on and grabbed his pen. But then, just as he touched pen to paper, the same file he'd just gathered back up was lifted into mid-air and forcefully slapped against his face before flying off the desk and onto the floor. A few other files flew off as well, all at the same time. Shane rubbed his cheek for a second, stunned. Then he shoved his chair back in shock and put his hands up, looking around wildly.

"Y'saw that part too, right?" Rick asked. "There was no wind, wasn't no window open—we shut the central cooling off last week. That one file literally _slapped_ him right in the _face_! There's _no_ reason fer all those damn files ta be fallin' to the floor like that. It looked like they were _pushed_."

_Because they were, _Beth thought. She bit down hard on her lower lip and kept watching. She could see Daryl smirking from the corner of her eye.

Nothing else happened for a few long seconds. Shane sat frozen in his chair, hands still held up as if in surrender. Then he slowly took off his reading glasses and stood up, setting them down atop the desk once more before leaning down and beginning to clean up the mess of papers all over the floor.

"And watch this—" Rick pointed to the mouse of Shane's computer sitting beside his keyboard, perfectly still. "—y'see his mouse, right? Jus' sittin' there, he ain't even _close_ to touchin' it."

As he finished explaining, Beth and Daryl watched the mouse to Shane's computer being yanked from its cord by an unseen force and chucked across the room before hitting the wall and falling to the floor. Shane leapt up in surprise and looked around, trying to figure out what just happened. When he couldn't find the source of the noise, he went back to picking up papers—though he was much more tense and he kept glancing around warily.

Rick pointed to the reading glasses sitting atop the desk again. "Watch those damn glasses this time…"

The reading glasses lifted up from the desk just like they had moments before, floating through air and settling atop the computer monitor. Shane hadn't noticed though, because he was too busy gathering up all the files from the floor and placing them back on his desk. Once he was done, he returned to his seat and attempted to get back to work. He picked up his pen and quickly realized his glasses were once again missing. He glanced around for a second before spotting them atop his computer monitor. He reached out and snatched them up hesitantly.

For the next couple of minutes, the video was just Shane doing paperwork while looking very uncomfortable.

"Keep watchin'," Rick whispered, as though they were watching a movie and his favorite scene was about to come up. "This's where it gets _real_ weird."

At that, the reading glasses slid off Shane's face and fluttered in mid-air before hovering at eye-level across the desk. Shane stared, frozen and bewildered. He reached out a hand and tried to snatch his glasses back but they were jerked away, out of his reach.

Beth could practically _see_ Merle wearing the glasses and cackling maniacally as he teased Walsh, even though he was completely invisible on camera.

"Alright—y'all _definitely_ saw that, right?" Rick said, tapping his finger on the monitor excitedly. "Shane was jus' thinkin' it was a side-effect of his allergy medication, but we got that shit on _tape_."

They watched as Shane reached out and grasped for his glasses again and again only to have them jerked away at the last second. On the fourth try, he finally got them. Though he was clearly shaken, putting them back on warily and gazing around. That's when the bottom-right drawer on his desk flew open, like it was being yanked out by a rough hand. Shane jumped and looked down as the middle drawer flew open, then the top drawer, and then the bottom-left drawer and both drawers above it. He shoved his chair back and jumped up, stepping away from the desk in fear and confusion. Then his reading glasses flew off his face and across the room, shattering into pieces against the far wall. Shane stepped back until his back was pressed up against the wall behind his desk, searching around wildly for the source of the disturbances. His keyboard was yanked from his computer by an unseen hand and chucked to the floor, hard. Shane trembled. The playlist on his computer screen had changed: Beth squinted and read the title of the song that was playing.

Rick pointed to the spot that Beth was currently studying and said, "Shane said his computer started playin' some other weird song on its own at this point. It was _Somebody's Watching Me_ by Rockwell. He doesn't even have that on his playlist."

Beth couldn't help but smirk.

The sound of the music seemed to be making Shane tremble harder, though he remained frozen with his back pressed against the wall. Then all the files and papers flew off his desk at once, creating a small storm of paperwork that drifted to the floor in a scattered mess. At that, he hauled ass towards the door. He yanked it open and darted out into the hall, and the door fell shut behind him. A stack of boxes in the corner of the room toppled to the floor. Then everything went still.

Rick let out a befuddled sigh and closed the video. Beth and Daryl stood up straight and took a step back, and Rick spun around in his chair to give them both an expectant look.

He could already see it on their faces: they weren't nearly as stunned as they should've been.

"Now tell me that ain't the weirdest goddamn thing ya ever seen in yer life," he said, eyeballing them both with skepticism. "I've seen all those _Paranormal Activity_ movies, but this? These are _surveillance_ videos—ain't no movie. I thought Shane was full'a shit or losin' his mind, but I've watched this damn footage at least twenty times by now. There's just no explanation. Not _logical_, at least."

Beth and Daryl exchanged a look that made the skeptical frown on Rick's face deepen.

"Wasn't nobody else in here today," he explained. "If _that's_ what yer gonna try ta tell me. Basset's off today, everybody else is out workin' their beats. 'S just been me an' Shane an' Simon in this building since eight this mornin'."

Beth raised her eyebrows but kept her lips tightly shut, unwilling to return Rick's scrutinizing gaze for longer than a few seconds at a time. She kept glancing to Daryl, who was shifting uncomfortably where he stood and diverting his gaze towards the computer monitor on the desk.

"One more thing," Rick said, spinning back around and clicking his mouse to open both videos. He kept them paused and minimized the windows so he could show the bottom right corner of both frames at once. He pointed at the timestamps. "All hell broke loose in Simon's cell… and then not five minutes after it ended, that other shit started in Shane's office."

"So…?" Daryl croaked out.

Beth shot him a look and he gave a discreet shrug in response. Rick spun back around, blue eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"_So…_ if it was a haunting, it'd have ta be the same ghost," he said. "Right?"

Beth could no longer keep her mouth shut. She burst out, "You think it's a _ghost_? Like—an actual _haunting_?"

Rick blinked and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. He stared at Beth incredulously. "Shane's glasses were _hovering_. _in_. _mid_. _air_… What else _could_ it be?"

"Well, shit," Daryl muttered.

He and Beth exchanged a look and the corner of her mouth tugged up into a surprised half-smile. Suddenly, she didn't feel the need to communicate silently.

"Maybe this'll be easier than we thought," she said.

"More'an _maybe_," Daryl agreed, looking back to Rick.

The Sheriff had already opened his mouth, a very confused expression on his face. He asked, "Now what the hell're you two goin' on about? _What's_ gonna be easier than ya thought? Why aren't y'all as absolutely _shook_ about this damn poltergeist as I am? Christ, I'm gonna have ta bring a priest in here or somethin'!"

Daryl sighed and shook his head. Then he said, rather matter-of-factly, "Nah, you won't need a priest. The haunting was, uh… it was Merle."

Beth's jaw dropped open. She hadn't been expecting Daryl to be quite so blunt about it.

Then again, she reckoned this was probably their best opportunity _to_ be blunt. If Rick was ever going to hear them out, this would be the time. He was clearly open-minded to the prospect of dead people sticking around and causing trouble.

Although she couldn't say whether he'd be quite so open-minded once he heard the _whole_ story.

**to be continued...**


	33. Part-Time Sheriff, Full-Time Paranormal

**Part-Time Sheriff, Full-Time Paranormal Fanboy**

"Sorry—think I'm strokin' out or somethin'." Rick huffed out an incredulous chuckle. "Coulda swore you just said it's _Merle_."

Daryl nodded. "Y'heard me right. It's Merle. Not some random poltergeist."

Rick turned his gaze on Beth and she froze. She had no idea what to tell the sheriff that could possibly segue into the truth about Merle.

"Here's the real kicker," Daryl went on, as though he were describing a weird TV show he'd recently watched. He jabbed a thumb in Beth's direction and said, "She's the only one who can see 'im. She's a _psychic_."

Rick's jaw dropped and he gaped at Beth in shock, glancing to Daryl for confirmation and finding it within the Dixon's plain-faced expression.

The sheriff made a squeak of disbelief and repeated, "A _psychic_?"

"Well," Beth chimed in. "In a way. I have this, uh… _Gift_. I can see people who've died, an' sometimes they come to me for help. Like Merle."

"Oh," Rick said, furrowing his brow and gazing at her with a look she couldn't quite decipher. He cocked his head to the side. "That sounds more like a _medium_ than a psychic. You can contact The Other Side an' whatnot?"

Beth and Daryl both reeled, sharing a look of surprise at the fact that Rick was being so understanding.

Beth nodded and responded tentatively, "Yeah… an' whatnot. It's kind of a long story."

"Medium, psychic. Whatever," Daryl said. "Merle's been botherin' her fer damn near a week now. He followed us here when we came ta talk earlier. He was the one that pantsed Shane. Prob'ly pulled all them other stunts, too. Just ta fuck with y'all."

"He did," Beth confirmed. "I mean, I didn't _know_ he was doin' it. But he disappeared while we were in here, an' then when we left, he said he scared Walsh and the guy in the holding cell. I wasn't sure if he actually had till we saw those videos; it was definitely him. He said he never liked Shane."

Rick took a moment to process this new information. He looked Beth and Daryl up and down, though all traces of skepticism were gone. He seemed to be trying to comprehend it all and convince himself at this point.

Then he sighed. "Well, never thought I'd say this but… that makes sense." He shrugged. "'Least I ain't gotta call a priest in here, or email those ghost huntin' guys from TV. 'Cause that's what I was _about_ to do." He paused and quirked a brow. "You think Zak Bagans would come out here if I sent him those videos?"

"Who?" Daryl asked, clueless.

"Nevermind," Rick waved it off. "He's prob'ly too high-profile ta come out here—anyway, back to this _seein' dead people_ thing." He focused his intrigued gaze on Beth. "Beth, you've been a medium this _whole_ _time_? Does yer _daddy_ know you can do that?"

Beth rolled her eyes. "No, he doesn't. And he _never_ _will_." She gave him a firm look and he nodded in understanding. Then she shrugged and said, "I haven't been seein' ghosts like, the _whole_ time. It's complicated—but Merle showed up a few days ago askin' me for help. He says he can't remember his death, but he knows he didn't kill himself. He wouldn't leave me alone till I tracked Daryl down an' started looking into it."

"_Huh_," Rick grunted, tongue in cheek as he processed her words. Then he smirked and spoke directly to Daryl, "That makes even more sense. So there was never any _anonymous_ _note_, huh?"

Beth and Daryl shook their heads.

The sheriff clucked his tongue knowingly and added, "I _knew_ it wasn't just some '_gut feeling_.' Yer a pretty bad liar, ya know that?"

"Isn't he, though?" Beth agreed.

Daryl appeared slightly unsettled and redirected the conversation, "So you _believe_ us? Y'don't think we're high or losin' our minds?"

Rick raised his eyebrows and asked very simply, "_Are_ you high?"

"No," Beth and Daryl replied in unison. They exchanged a brief look.

Rick uncrossed his arms and slapped his hands down on his thighs decisively. "Well, that's enough fer me. Doesn't sound like any kinda psychosis _I've_ ever heard of—an' I've dealt with a lotta folks from _all_ parts of the mental spectrum, believe you me."

Daryl had obviously expected a much different reaction from the sheriff. He huffed out a breath of discontent, but Beth found herself smiling and gazing at Rick with a newfound respect.

After all the obstacles they'd hit, as well as the obstacles they were inevitably facing, Rick Grimes believing them was a huge relief. Like a breath of fresh air. She'd been half-expecting him to be just as doubtful as Daryl had been at the start. It was a weight off her shoulders to know she wouldn't have to try and prove herself to another skeptic.

Rick registered the look on Daryl's face and said, "What—you want me ta _not_ believe you? C'mon, Daryl. I _know_ you. We're friends. I trust you just as much as I trust Beth. What reason have you ever given me ta doubt ya?"

Daryl seemed a bit taken aback by this and he glanced away uncomfortably, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "None, I guess." He met Rick's eyes again and shrugged. "Jus' thought it'd be harder ta convince you than this—y'know, with the whole _supernatural_ aspect an' all."

"Well," Rick said, leaning forward in his chair and lowering his voice as though he were revealing a secret. "Not many people know this, 'cause I don't think anybody would really respect a sheriff that believes in_ ghosts_—that could be taken advantage of real quick by _some_ people 'round here, if ya catch my drift."

Beth and Daryl nodded in understanding. _You keep my secret and I'll keep yours._

"But hell, I've been a believer ever since I discovered _X-Files_ when I was eight years old," he explained. "I was obsessed with _Ghostbusters_ in middle school. All that paranormal, unexplained stuff has always interested me. I'ono why, just does… And jus' between us? I think there's a _helluva_ lotta shit that most of us normal folk will _never_ understand. Know what I mean?"

Daryl grunted but Beth agreed, "I know _exactly_ what you mean." She couldn't help but smile a little wider at the thought of Sheriff Rick Grimes being a hardcore fan of all things paranormal on the down-low.

"I don't know a whole lot," he admitted. "But me an' Lori watched every single episode of _The Ghost Whisperer_ and _Medium_ when we were still together. An' I still watch all those ghost hunter shows—not the obviously fake ones, though. I never believed that John Edwards guy or any a those other crocks. But there's a couple people out there that're just too damn _convincing_. I mean, how d'we _know_ that souls don't get stuck on Earth from time to time? Or that they can't speak to us from The Other Side?"

Daryl grunted. "So ya got all yer knowledge from… the _Ghostbusters_ an' a bunch'a TV shows?"

"Hey now," Rick defended himself. "There's always a little truth ta be found in fiction. 'M sure you never thought you'd be dealin' with the ghost of yer dead brother… yet here you are."

Beth smirked and glanced over at Daryl, who still appeared to be in a state of disbelief. She could tell that he'd expected this conversation to be going a lot differently, too. And maybe it was making him suspicious to find it so _easy_.

But _easy_ was a welcomed relief, in her opinion. They needed to take _easy_ anywhere they could get it.

"It's not _exactly_ like all those shows make it out ta be, though," Beth chimed in, her smile fading as she settled her gaze firmly on Rick.

His blue eyes flickered with renewed interest. "Didn't think it would be. But it sounds awfully familiar—a soul that can't cross over 'cause their murder is unsolved? Reachin' out for help to the first person who can hear 'em? Think I've seen at least a few episodes with a pretty similar premise. Can't tell if this is life imitating art or vise versa."

Beth chuckled, astounded at the sheriff's level of awareness. "You want the _whole_ story?"

Rick's eyebrows were raised and he was staring at Beth and Daryl very expectantly. "If we're gonna solve this, then yeah—I s'pose I might _need_ the whole story."

Beth felt Daryl's eyes on her and she quickly looked over to meet a look of trepidation. She read his expression: _The __**whole**__ story…?_

She returned it with a look of her own that very blatantly interpreted to: _Maybe not the __**whole **__whole story. But the important parts for sure._

He nodded briskly and faced Rick once again. She did the same.

Rick eagerly gestured to the pair of chairs on the other side of his desk. "Have a seat, y'all. Let's start from the beginning."

* * *

Beth and Daryl sat side-by-side in front of Rick's desk while the sheriff remained in his seat on the other side, elbows rested on the surface of the desk as he listened intently. Beth did all the talking, of course. Though Daryl nodded and grunted in agreement here and there, adding in his own major details whenever necessary. She didn't get nearly as in depth as she had when she'd been telling Maggie—there were plenty of aspects that didn't need to be elaborated on in order for Rick to get the gist.

She gave a run-down on her Gift, on the weird incidents throughout her life and how the circumstances of her birth had sparked it all; how she'd inherited something that was passed down through generations of Greene's; how her mysterious Gift seemed to take root in the women of her family. She briefly mentioned that Maggie had the same Gift, but it had faded away, even though she'd spoken to a seemingly immortal Witch from Ireland who had foretold Beth's future involving the Dixon brothers. She laid out the bare facts concerning The Veil and The Afterlife and The Other Side, the vague mentions of the Creator and His brother. And how Fate (or Destiny or whatever the hell you wanted to call it) was a fragile and completely unpredictable gamble with morality itself.

Rick nodded along, as though it all made sense. Even though Beth knew it had to sound like some kind of dramatic plot to one of his TV shows. He was enthralled all the same, and seemed downright eager to learn the truth.

She explained how Merle had appeared, how he'd threatened to haunt her father to literal death, how she eventually found out that the fate of Daryl's soul was completely reliant on the fate of Merle's. She summarized their visit to the Swamp Witch and all the things they'd learned, the vision of The Crossroads and Papa Legba that they'd both seen, all the strange advice that Morgan had given them and the scattered puzzle pieces he'd predicted.

She chose to leave out the patricide once again—she felt it would be best if she let Daryl reveal that information at his own discretion. It didn't feel like her place to inform Rick of such a thing. And based on Daryl's expression, he agreed.

By the time she was done and Rick was mostly caught up on their harrowing journey, nearly half an hour had passed. Her throat was sore from talking for so long and her mouth was dry. But she barely noticed. All she could focus on was the expression in Rick's eyes, the crease in his forehead, the thin line that his mouth had formed. He was struggling to take it all in. Nonetheless, he was certainly taking it _all_ in.

He blinked slowly and lifted his elbows from the desk, leaning back in his chair. He glanced back and forth between Beth and Daryl for a moment, then he let out a deep breath.

"Jesus," he muttered. "This shit should be a _movie_."

Beth and Daryl shared a tense laugh at that. Though they couldn't say they fully disagreed.

"See what we meant?" Beth asked. "We couldn't make this up if we _tried_. But we still didn't expect you to _believe_ it."

"_I_ sure didn't," Daryl muttered in solidarity. "I watched a whole fuckin' mug a beer fly outta my hand an' smash through a window, an' I _still_ didn't wanna believe it coulda been a ghost. Let alone _Merle_'s ghost."

"Well, I ain't never been the _gullible_ type," Rick said. "But I ain't never been the type ta deny the truth when it was starin' me in the face neither—even if it's somethin' that's a li'l _out there_."

_Thank God for that,_ Beth thought.

"Not ta mention, it's _you_ two," he said matter-of-factly. "I might have a hard time believin' a story like this from anybody else—but when it's comin' from one of my best friends an' the girl who babysits my kid?" Rick huffed out a sound of indignation. "I'd have ta be _stupid_ not to at least hear y'all out."

Daryl visibly reeled at that, though Beth smiled.

"You have no idea how much that means," she admitted, unable to withhold her deep gratitude for another second.

Daryl was attempting to appear indifferent but appreciative all the same. "Yeah. 'S nice ta know y'don't think we should be locked up in a psych ward after all this."

Rick shrugged nonchalantly and went on, "Y'know, I took a couple religion classes in college." He perked up in his seat just slightly, blue eyes lighting up. "It was fascinating. I studied all kinds'a crazy beliefs, read all sorts'a mythology from dozens of different cultures around the world." He shot Daryl a pointed look. "I don't get _all_ my knowledge from _Ghostbusters_ and TV shows."

Daryl frowned, offering a weak shrug of apology.

Rick turned his focus on Beth and continued, "One'a the things I learned about was Papa Legba."

Beth leaned forward a bit. "Really?"

He nodded. "Yeah. He's pretty well-known in a lotta cultures. What you saw at The Crossroads, with Merle… well, it sounded just like all the things I read about him. An' that Swamp Witch you talked to was right—Papa Legba ain't one ta be messed with. Or underestimated."

Beth pursed her lips, a shiver running down her spine.

Daryl grunted and said, "Y'got anythin' we _don't_ know about him?"

"Yeah," Rick laughed lightly. "I do, actually. Did a whole research project on Haitian Voodoo at one point. Doubt it'd be any help in this case, though. I mean, y'already talked to a _real_ expert."

"Shoot," Beth encouraged him. "More information is never a _bad_ thing."

Daryl gave a half-hearted shrug of agreement. "Couldn't hurt ta know more."

Rick paused briefly, mulling over the knowledge he was able to recall. Then he said, "Well, besides what y'already know—how he's a Crossroads demon, a deal-maker, a real stickler with a sick sense of humor…"

_Is this Merle or Papa Legba we're talking about? _Beth wondered, suppressing a smile at the thought.

"He's also pretty damn reasonable compared to a lotta _other_ deities," Rick drawled. "Uh… let's see, I know some random crap. Probably pointless, but… Well, his day is Monday. His number is three. His colors are red an' black, obviously. Y'all probably noticed that, an' I know I don't gotta tell you 'bout his Hellhounds or his infamous dog symbolism."

Beth nodded along, recalling the unforgettable Hellhounds, as well as the prominent red and black colors that inhabited Papa Legba's appearance.

"Um—oh, the cigarettes he gave Merle don't surprise me, 'cause Papa Legba loves tobacco, so I reckon Merle hit a soft spot there." Rick listed off his numerous retained facts light-heartedly. "He loves rum an' coconut, too. And candy. And _keys_, fer some reason. An' there's an old tradition of leaving three pennies out for 'im as payment for opening the door to The Other Side." He smirked and added, "Guess he likes small change… Though I s'pose that's a lot cheaper than bargaining a _soul_."

Beth and Daryl took all of this in, eyes wide in realization. Before they could properly react, Rick was attempting to explain himself.

"See, I know that's all pretty useless information," he insisted. "Who _knows_ if it's even true—I think the tobacco part kinda fits, but I might be graspin' at straws here." Rick put out his hands, openly admitting his ignorance. "Maybe they ain't more'an _fun facts_."

Beth was struck silent, slowly piecing it all together in her head. Daryl wasn't responding either, but she wasn't sure if it was because he was experiencing a similar thought process or not.

"Hell," Rick went on, his tone heavy with uncertainty as he glanced between the pair. "Fer all we know, everythin' that's recorded in history about demons and The Afterlife an' whatnot is totally misconstrued. All that crap I learned in college could mean nothin' at all… 'Cause from what I've seen, the people who _really_ knew what was goin' on weren't the ones _writin'_ about it."

Beth was immediately reminded of what the Witch of Youghal had told her sister: _"Those books were not written by the Gifted; their authors were unable to see past The Veil. Too small-minded to comprehend the complexities of what comes next."_

"You said his day is Monday?" Daryl asked.

Beth and Rick both looked at him quizzically.

Rick nodded slowly. "Yeah."

Daryl turned his head and raised his eyebrows, his attention focused on Beth. "Didn't you first come lookin' fer me on Tuesday? An' you said Merle showed up the day before?"

His inference clicked in her head almost immediately and she let out an audible gasp. "He showed up on Monday morning."

Rick's eyes went wide. Daryl appeared satisfied.

Another realization popped into Beth's head and she didn't hesitate to point out, "Papa Legba's number is three… me, Daryl, and Merle make three."

She saw Daryl whipping his head to stare over at her in surprise, but her attention was focused on Rick. The sheriff appeared just as perplexed and stunned. Though they were all exchanging a look of fearful understanding over the next few seconds.

Beth was struck with a memory that she couldn't possibly withhold, breaking the tense silence, "And I saw those _damned_ Hellhounds at the cabin today. Papa Legba's dogs."

"Well that can't be good," Rick muttered.

"Looked like wild dogs ta me. Thought you was seein' things," Daryl added, his gaze set on Beth. She had no choice but to turn and face him as he went on, "But after you blacked out an' saw… whatcha saw… Well, I shoulda known better'an to doubt ya."

She felt her cheeks turning pink and quickly looked away, suppressing a smile. She had to fight the urge to say, "_yeah, you should've._" He was stubborn, but at least he was coming around. Not even Daryl Dixon could deny what was really going on, no matter how unbelievable it might sound.

"Wait," Rick cut in, squinting across the desk at Beth with his head tilted curiously to the side. "So when y'all went to the cabin—you had a _vision_ while you were there? Or did ya find somethin'?"

"I was right about that bullet hole in the wall," Daryl remarked. "Didn't come from any gun Merle ever owned. I can tell ya that much fer sure."

Rick frowned and his face dropped. "So yer tellin' me… Merle really was _murdered_?"

"It's gonna sound a little cliché," Beth explained, her voice low. "But y'know in all those shows, how sometimes the psychic will touch something an' get a vision from it?"

Rick nodded, perking up a bit.

"That's what happened," she said. "I touched that bullet hole in the wall an' the next thing I knew, I was standing in that room on the day Merle died. I watched the whole thing play out… I _watched_ Merle get hanged by some guy I've never seen before."

Sheriff Grimes' face had fallen even farther at this point, completely draining of color. There was a deep remorse in his eyes and he glanced away, down at his hands, as he sighed heavily. He shook his head, shoulders slumped with defeat.

"Christ," he mumbled. "I can't _believe_ I let this slip through the cracks… I shoulda known better. I shoulda listened to my instincts the first time."

"Ain't yer fault," Daryl said reassuringly, gazing across the desk at Rick with concern. "I _told_ you not ta look into it. Ya couldn'ta done nothin' even if you'd tried, I wouldn'ta let ya."

Rick slowly raised his head. "Yeah, s' just—"

But his words suddenly registered in Beth's head and she cut him off, "What d'you _mean_ 'the first time?' What'd yer instincts tell you that you ignored?"

Rick swallowed hard and glanced from Beth to Daryl and back again before his gaze settled on the Dixon brother. He appeared wary as he responded, "I didn't wanna say nothin', Daryl. I wasn't tryin' ta make things any harder for ya than they already were. I figured if _you_ didn't see no reason ta look into it, then there was no point pushin' the issue. It'd jus' make it all that much more painful. An' that's the last thing I'd ever wanna do."

"What're you talkin' about?" Daryl asked, eyes narrowed as he grew frustrated. "You tryin' ta say that you _knew_ Merle didn't kill himself?"

"I didn't _know_," Rick replied. "Not for certain. It was nothin'—nothin' more'an a gut feeling. Cop's intuition, if that's what ya wanna call it. Just felt like there was somethin' more to the whole thing—I was a li'l suspicious about all the circumstances. But there wasn't no _evidence_… I couldn't open a whole damn investigation based on my intuition, 'specially not when it'd be against the next of kin's wishes."

Daryl was clenching his jaw and glaring at Rick, though he didn't seem to be angry. In fact, he almost looked like he was fighting back tears.

Beth quickly interjected with a question of her own: "What was it? What gave you the feeling that it wasn't a suicide?"

Rick sighed and rolled a hand in the air. "It wasn't nothin' concrete. I just… _knew_ Merle. I knew 'im fer years. We spent a lotta time talkin', between car rides an' overnights in the drunk tank. Well—it was mostly _him_ talking." The sheriff shrugged and ran a hand through his hair. "But I'll be damned if he wasn't a man of _conviction_. He was one'a them folks that don't know when to quit. Stubborn as a goddamn mule an' damn near as smart." He chuckled fondly, as though he were reminiscing about an old friend rather than a man he'd arrested nearly a hundred times.

Daryl grunted out a sound of amusement at that, but his gaze was diverted to his lap, where he was picking at his fingernails nervously. Beth felt a pang of sympathy in her gut and focused on Rick.

"Sounds like you really _did_ know him," she said softly. "'Cause you were right."

Rick smiled. "He tell ya 'bout the first time I arrested him?"

She shook her head.

"I'on't think he was too proud'a that one," Daryl mumbled, still listening while he stared down at his fidgeting hands.

Rick laughed. "Yeah, well I bet he ain't. But it was one helluva first impression."

"What happened?" Beth asked, too curious to resist.

The sheriff leaned back in his desk chair, a glint of amusement in his eyes. He smiled fondly as he told the story, and Beth could tell by the way he spoke that this was far from the first time this particular tale had been recounted: "It was prob'ly about ten or twelve years ago—Carl was barely outta kindergarten, I was still a deputy. I'd heard about Merle here an' there from the other cops, but I hadn't actually been called out ta deal with him yet. So when I got the call about a possible break-in, it was real late at night. I was one of two deputies workin' graveyard—Shane was clear on the other side of town dealin' with a domestic disturbance. Whoever called said the break-in was still in progress, so I hauled ass out to the edge of town an' found Merle crawlin' out a window. He was high off his ass, half-drunk, tryin' ta run off with a bag full'a God-knows-what—"

Daryl interrupted to say, "Tell 'er what was in the bag."

Rick chuckled and shook his head, waving Daryl off. "Hold on, I'll get there. I always save that part fer last. Anyhow—so I give chase, obviously. I got my taser out, my flashlight, I'm chasin' this asshole fer at _least_ a few yards. But wouldn't ya believe it, he's fast as _fuck_!" Rick threw his head back and laughed, then went on, "That asshole ran faster than any tweaker I've _ever_ had ta chase. He outran me! By the time I caught up, he'd already found a car parked down the street an' stole it. Wasn't hard since the keys were inside, but still."

Beth's lips were parted and she was listening intently, enthralled and a bit entertained. The corner of her mouth tweaked up into a smile as Rick narrated his memory.

"So I get back ta my cruiser as quick as I can and take off after 'im," the sheriff continued, grinning and suppressing more laughter. "It's a whole fuckin' high-speed pursuit… fer about five minutes. That _dumbass_ stole a car with no gas in the tank. By the time I catch up, I find him stopped out front somebody else's driveway an'—get this—he's tryin' ta _siphon_ _gas_ out of _another_ _car_." He let out a hearty laugh at that and quickly went on, "So I roll up on 'im, but he spots me real quick an' just takes off. I ended up havin' ta chase him down on foot. That bastard ran fer over a goddamn _mile_. I thought I was gonna pass out 'fore I could get him in cuffs. But that ain't even the best part: once we retrieved the stolen car, we found the bag he took from that house he broke into… it was all costume jewelry and women's panties."

He and Daryl burst into laughter at that and Beth couldn't help but join in. She was glad Merle wasn't present for this particular story. She was almost certain he'd have more than a few things to say.

"Now, he _swore_ he didn't remember takin' any of that," Rick added, still chuckling. "He claimed he was so fucked-up that he barely even remembered breakin' in. But Shane started callin' him Drag Queen Dixon and, well… he's hated Shane ever since." An amused grin remained plastered to Rick's face.

"That was jus' one reason. Walsh sure as hell ain't the most _likeable_ guy I ever met," Daryl muttered, his smile quickly turning into a frown at the mention of Rick's partner.

Beth looked over at Daryl thoughtfully, taking note of how he constantly defended Merle, even in the most subtle of ways.

She was briefly reminded of Merle's last-minute lies in the final moments of his life, how desperate he'd been to defend his baby brother even if it meant incriminating himself. Maybe the Dixon brothers weren't quite so different, after all. Their relationship was complicated—always had been—but it was simple at its core: no Dixon gets left behind. That's how her relationship with Maggie felt. And every moment that Beth spent with Daryl, she found more and more in common between them.

So why did he have so much trouble understanding why she'd told Maggie about everything? Why had he resisted so much when she'd first come to him with the truth about his brother's demise? Why did he find it so hard to believe that other people could care about him in the same way that he cared about them? Or that he wasn't the only one with a frustrating sibling relationship? Why did he act like he was some kind of human island, like there was no other soul on Earth who could possibly relate to him? Could he not see how much Rick cared? Could he not sense Beth's unwavering support? Could he not interpret his own brother's mixed messages?

Rick shrugged and his grin slowly faded until he was somber-faced once more. He cleared his throat and shifted his gaze from Beth to Daryl.

"The moral of the story," the sheriff concluded solemnly. "Is that Merle wasn't the quittin' type. He always spouted that line, _can't nobody kill a Dixon 'cept a Dixon_, an' I'll be damned if I didn't grow inclined to believe it. Even if he was talkin' out of his ass… But the way this went down just don't _fit_. Plain an' simple. As much as I didn't care for the guy, he still deserves justice."

Daryl nodded curtly, head bowed. "Thanks."

"Did'ja happen ta catch the name of Merle's killer?" Rick asked, turning his attention to Beth. "In yer vision?"

Beth sighed. "No. He called himself The Governor."

Rick tilted his head to the side thoughtfully. He paused, frowning. Then he guessed, "Bein' a medium ain't gonna make this much _easier_… is it?"

Beth and Daryl both shook their heads.

Daryl grumbled out, "Not in the slightest."

**to be continued… **


	34. The Only Good Cop

**The Only Good Cop**

Rick sucked on his teeth for a long moment, slowly shifting his thoughtful gaze from Daryl to Beth. She tensed beneath his deep blue stare, squirming uncomfortably in her seat.

"So what _did_ ya see, Beth?" He drawled, breaking the drawn-out silence. "I'm hopin' you at least figured out this Governor guy's motive for murder."

Beth cleared her throat and avoided meeting Rick's eyes. This wasn't her place—she couldn't explain everything she'd seen without revealing the truth about Will Dixon's death. She wanted to lay it all out for Rick, just like she'd done with everything else. But she couldn't. That wasn't her family. It wasn't her story to tell.

Instead, she turned her head and looked at Daryl. He met her gaze with a sidelong glance, chewing on his thumbnail nervously once again.

He seemed to interpret the silent message she was sending because his back stiffened and he sat up a little straighter, placing his hands in his lap and raising his eyes to meet the sheriff's from across the desk that separated them. Rick sat in silence with a patient look on his face, shifting his focus from Beth to Daryl.

"That's… the thing," Daryl started hesitantly, his voice no more than a hoarse growl. "We think Merle was killed over some money."

"Oh," Rick perked up. "That's not so bad—I mean, it's _bad_, but money is always a pretty simple motive ta figure out. What was it, a loan shark? A rival dealer?"

Daryl and Beth shook their heads in unison. Beth kept her mouth tightly shut, watching Daryl as he hesitated, his gaze flicking away from the sheriff's every few seconds.

"Nah," he said. "Not exactly."

"No?" Rick furrowed his brow. "What else could it be?"

Daryl frowned. Beth could see him picking at his fingernails desperately, and his right leg began to jiggle like a restless habit. He grunted and cleared his throat, looking away from Rick almost in shame.

"It's okay," she whispered, attempting to offer her support by speaking directly to him. She reached out a hand and gave his upper arm a brief squeeze of reassurance before pulling it back. "He has ta know—it's the only way he can help us."

Daryl nodded curtly without looking over at her and his leg stilled. He raised his head slowly and met Rick's expectant gaze.

"Y'know how my mom died in that fire when I was a kid?" He started. "An' my dad moved out to that cabin—the one he left fer Merle?"

Rick nodded solemnly. "Yeah. From my understanding, he bought that property with the insurance money from the fire. What about it?"

Daryl quickly looked away again, casting his eyes down toward his boots. Though he continued speaking directly to Rick as he added, "An' y'know how that prick died… and we never figured out who did it?"

Rick shifted uncomfortably but tried not to let it show. He frowned and said, "Well, we had some probable suspects, but there wasn't enough evidence ta make a solid case…"

"Yeah," Daryl said, eyes glued to the floor. "'Cause y'all never even had the right suspects. _Merle_ did it. He slit our pa's throat an' stole his drugs."

At first, Rick didn't react. He kept frowning, a deep crease in his brow, his eyes set on Daryl. Beth didn't even realize she was holding her breath until her lungs began to ache. She slowly let it out, and still, Rick's expression didn't change.

Then he simply_ hmph_ed and shook his head, unclasping his hands from one another to place them lazily in his lap, leaning back in his chair. "Well I'll be damned," he muttered. Though he didn't sound anywhere near as baffled as Beth had expected.

Clearly, Daryl had expected more of a reaction too, because he grunted and asked, "Y'really had no idea?"

Rick's mouth twitched and he glanced away from Daryl for a second, clearing his throat. "I had my hunches. But Merle had a solid alibi."

Daryl appeared a bit confused. "That why ya didn't question 'im?"

Rick shrugged nonchalantly. "I _did_ question him. Briefly. Jus' long enough ta ask about his alibi. And it checked out, so I wrote him off."

Daryl's eyes narrowed. "_You_ wrote 'im off?"

Rick's mouth twitched again but he kept frowning. "Yeah. I was put in charge of buildin' a list of suspects. Merle said he was at a woman's house that night. I tracked that woman down, asked her to corroborate. She did. Neither one of 'em gave me any reason ta be suspicious. I mean—to Merle's credit, his choice of a booty call turned out to be a pretty damn reliable source."

"What booty call?" Daryl asked. "What was 'is alibi?"

This time, Rick glanced away and the discomfort was obvious on his face and in his posture. He hesitated, clearing his throat and drawing out the silence. Then he dragged his eyes up and met Daryl's once more.

His voice was deeper, more solemn, and he spoke directly to Daryl to the point that Beth almost felt like she shouldn't be here to witness this conversation. But she knew she had to be. She had to know everything Daryl knew, and vise versa.

"Look, Daryl," the sheriff said, pausing and sighing before he went on. He spoke apologetically, yet firm and self-assured at the same time. "Will was notorious around here fer a lotta shit. Some of it was just hearsay, but the majority of it was the truth. Yer pa got away with a helluva lot more'an you'll ever know about. More'an even _I'll_ ever know about. But the fire that killed your mother… that's a well-known secret. Everybody in Senoia knows Will Dixon killed his wife for the insurance money and got away with it."

Daryl frowned but he didn't say anything. He was focused on Rick, eyes still narrowed like…

Well, Beth reckoned it was like finding out that every fucking person in town had known for the last thirty years that your daddy killed your mama.

He bristled and she could sense the pain radiating off of him in waves. The shame. The embarrassment. Her heart ached for him, but she kept her hands to herself, resisting the urge to reach out and offer him support.

Rick continued, "I didn't come into the department till fifteen years after the fire, and it was _still _the first thing I heard about whenever Will's name came up. It's common knowledge that your dad was a no-good, abusive, murderin' piece of shit. I don't think I have ta tell _you_ that much…"

Daryl grunted, but his expression didn't change. His jaw tensed.

"But I'll give him this," Rick said, slightly begrudging. "He was _smart_. Not real smart, but smart enough to cover his tracks and go off the grid afterwards—"

"So what's that gotta do with Merle's alibi?" Daryl interjected, his voice edged with impatience.

Rick's face turned to stone and he looked Daryl dead in the eyes. "I didn't _know_ Merle killed him… but I knew."

Beth's breath caught in her throat. She could hear Daryl's teeth grinding together in the silence of the room. She could see the sheriff swallowing hard, forcing the confession forward from the depths of his throat.

Rick explained, stern and matter-of-factly, "Will Dixon had every bit a what he got comin' to to him for _years_. None of us could do a goddamn thing about your mama's murder. We couldn't make him pay, couldn't get you an' yer brother the justice y'all deserved." He paused and took a deep breath, tongue flicking out to swipe across his chapped lips. He lowered his voice to barely more than a whisper as he explained, "Merle didn't have a totally solid alibi. But I _made_ it solid…"

"Christ," Daryl huffed out. But all traces of anger had completely disappeared from his expression.

"Listen, I don't go makin' exceptions," Rick quickly explained. "If it was anybody else, I'd've done it by the book. But it was _Merle_—an' as much as I never cared fer the guy, I made my decision. I picked my battles. An' puttin' yer brother behind bars for doin' what somebody shoulda done thirty fuckin' years ago? I couldn't do it, Daryl. I couldn't put y'all through that. Everybody was better off 'cause a what Merle did. God forgive me fer sayin' that, but it's _true_."

"Ain't arguin'," Daryl mumbled, jaw still tensed, voice low and hoarse.

"As it turns out," Rick went on, his tone lightening, though his voice remained hushed as if someone might be eavesdropping. "The woman Merle slept with before he killed Will was a judge. _His_ judge, to be exact. He already had a pending case an' he managed to _seduce _her into givin' him a lighter sentence once the court date came up. She told me what time he left her house—she told me _everything_. If I'd've put it in the report, it would've made Merle the top suspect. And she woulda lost her job." He shrugged with finality and crossed his arms over his chest, eyebrows raised. "As far as I know, your brother was spendin' the night with some woman he met at the bar when Will Dixon got his throat slit. Can't say anybody gave it much of a second thought… We've all been sleepin' a little easier since we found out Will was dead."

Rick Grimes stared across the desk at Daryl with an expression that Beth could only describe as _justified_.

She couldn't help but feel a little floored by this revelation. She had no idea Sheriff Grimes was capable of such a thing. He'd always seemed like such a by-the-book, right-from-wrong, lawful kind of man. But now she was seeing that he had an innate need to do what was _really_ right. Just like she did. She could see the spark in his eyes: the satisfaction of knowing that he'd done his tiny part to make the world a slightly better place.

That's what it was after all, wasn't it? The desperate urge to help, to do _something_, that led people like her and Rick to these kinds of lengths. The insatiable passion for helping people—for helping _good_ people, like Daryl. Even if it meant doing things a little… differently. Even if it meant fudging an alibi, or fulfilling a deal with a demon.

If anything, she respected him even more now than ever before. And she could already tell that Daryl was experiencing a similar revelation.

Daryl was worrying his lower lip, looking at his friend in a new light. There was a tense silence for several long seconds. Then he finally cleared his throat, and his hand moved up to stroke the hairs on his chin, half-nervous and half-thoughtful.

"Did'ja know _I_ was s'posed ta be part of that insurance plan?"

Rick blinked, furrowing his brow. "There was a rumor that it was s'posed ta be you _and_ yer mama, but it was just a rumor… We knew yer pa was a child abuser, but nobody really thought he'd stoop all the way down to child _killer_."

"_Attempted_ child killer," Daryl corrected, almost void of emotion. "Didn't work. Obviously. But Merle knew—he knew I was s'posed ta die in the fire."

"I stand by my decision," Rick said flatly. "Yer dad had it comin'. Wasn't no point in wastin' money or manpower on solving his murder. He wasn't worth the shit I scraped off my boots."

"Agreed," Daryl said, sitting up a little straighter. "Ya ever hear how much that prick got outta the insurance scam?"

Rick shrugged. "Nah. Nobody I ever talked to had details. Knew it was enough ta buy a place out in the holler an' start bootleggin' 'shine. Figured he blew the rest on weapons an' dope."

Daryl snorted. "So did I. But didn't y'all ever wonder how he could afford an insurance plan that paid out so much in the first place?"

Rick blinked and frowned deeply. He suddenly appeared deflated. "Shit… y'don't mean…?"

"He wasn't the only one in on it," Daryl concluded, speaking aloud the realization that had just crossed the sheriff's face.

Rick squinted, huffing out a breath of disbelief. "This Governor guy—_he_ was the accomplice?"

Daryl only had to give a brief nod before Rick was following up with, "An' Will fucked him over, didn't he? Broke whatever deal they had an' went off the grid once the dirty work was done? Made himself a lifelong enemy?"

At that, both Beth and Daryl nodded. Rick's eyes flicked over to her for a second and she could see all the pieces clicking together in his head. When he looked back to Daryl, he was smirking. Not out of amusement, though. It was just dumbfounded disbelief.

"Well," the sheriff proclaimed, uncrossing his arms and leaning forward in his seat. "Looks like y'all lied when ya said this paranormal stuff wasn't gonna make things any easier."

Beth scoffed, a bit taken aback. "It's not, though. We still have no idea who this guy actually is. Just a stupid nickname."

Rick flashed a smug smirk in her direction. "I beg to differ, Miss Greene. We might not have a _birth _name, but we have an alias. We have a motive. A face. _And_ y'all got the best damn sheriff in King County on yer side."

Daryl grunted with amusement. "Yer the _only _sheriff in King County."

Rick barked out a laugh. "And why d'ya think that is, smartass? Y'all came to the right place. We're gonna find this guy, and we're gonna get justice for Merle."

He paused and chuckled quietly, shaking his head.

"Christ," he muttered, shooting Daryl a crooked smile. "Never thought I'd hear myself say _that _out loud."

"It's been a week of firsts for _all_ of us," Beth chimed in.

Daryl merely smirked in agreement.

* * *

Beth and Daryl admittedly had no idea where to start when it came to tracking down The Governor's real identity. Thankfully, Rick did.

Well, kind of.

His first suggestion was a little off-the-wall: he eagerly offered to take them back into the evidence room so Beth could touch everything they'd filed away from the scene of Merle's murder. "'Cause if you saw that whole scene from touching a bullet hole in a wall, it's only logical that you'd see more from touching other stuff pertaining to the crime," Rick claimed. He backed up his theory with references to some of his favorite TV shows.

Daryl scoffed and Beth rolled her eyes and they both convinced the sheriff that the _logical_ first step would be revisiting the files from Will's fire and searching for mentions of an accomplice or a potential suspect. Because after three decades, they surmised, there was bound to be something that had been overlooked by foggier eyes.

However, when they dug out the very small and dusty box from one of the back shelves in the Sheriff's Department filing room, they found a sparse record of events. A serious lack of logged evidence. Absolutely zero information on any outside parties. It had been determined "accidental," so no one had bothered filing away a list of possible suspects or anything else that could've been any help.

They uncovered a copy of the paperwork that had been filed for the insurance claim, but for some reason, the agent's name was absent. The only information it provided was the contact details for an insurance company that had been bought out over fifteen years ago.

The three of them resolved that it wouldn't hurt anything to reach out to the insurance office, just at the off chance that someone who used to work with The Governor was still around. Or maybe someone had heard of him, or maybe their office held old employee records somewhere. Probably not, but they'd never know unless they tried.

Rick Googled the new company and found a list of currently employed agents, but no titles to their positions. He also found a phone number for the Senoia office, which he called. Of course, there was no one in the office since it was past their operating hours, so he left a very professional sounding voicemail requesting that a supervisor return his call at the earliest possible convenience. He made sure to mention that he was _Sheriff_ Rick Grimes, and that he had some important questions.

After he hung up, Beth and Daryl went back to squinting down at the array of old documents that had given them very few answers, as if there might be something new that would suddenly pop up. But then Rick sighed and glanced at his watch.

"I gotta get home an' relieve the babysitter here pretty soon," he declared. "But ya know, there's still time ta visit the evidence room…"

Beth gathered up the papers in front of her and began stacking them together, turning her head and catching Daryl's eye. They exchanged a brief look that said, _Might as well. _She was feeling doubtful that touching evidence would give her any sort of new visions, especially after she'd been allowed to see so much at the cabin. But there was still that niggle of curiosity. And she could see the same curiosity in Daryl's eyes.

They were already here. Even if it didn't do anything, what could it hurt to try?

Besides… she was getting more powerful every moment. Learning more about her Gift and how to utilize it to her advantage. She'd have to be stupid to turn down an opportunity like this, even if it amounted to nothing. She'd come too far and learned too much to allow any kind of skepticism to sway her decisions.

"What kinda evidence d'you have?" She asked, shoving a fat stack of papers back into its designated box and turning to face Rick.

The sheriff raised his eyebrows. "Everythin' we collected from the scene. Weapons, clothing, paraphernalia…"

Beth scrunched up her nose and blurted out the first thought that popped into her head, "I'm not touchin' Merle's dirty old boxers. I don't care _what_ they might show me."

Daryl barked out a laugh and Rick chuckled, shaking his head.

"Nah, I wouldn't expect ya to," he said. Then he gestured towards the box of paperwork and began to turn towards the door. "Leave that there, I'll put it away in the mornin'. Let's head back to the evidence room an' see if we can kick those psychic powers inta gear."

* * *

Beth and Daryl followed Rick down a long set of stairs to the basement of the Sheriff's Department, through a dimly lit corridor that ended in a locked gate and an empty desk. He pulled out a heavy set of keys and unlocked the gate, sliding it open and stepping aside to let them enter first. Once they were all through the gate, he walked over to the wall and flipped on a switch that lit up the expansive room.

Dozens of fluorescent bulbs flickered to life, revealing a vast basement room that held rows and rows of shelving. Beth thought it resembled a library, though a lot more ominous.

Rick gestured for her and Daryl to follow and began leading them through a maze of shelves and metal racks, past hundreds of age-worn labels and thousands upon thousands of boxes. Everything was covered in a fine layer of dust past the first couple rows of shelving.

They stopped somewhere in the middle of the huge room, surrounded by looming structures. Rick squinted at the rows of shelves before him, looking up and down very slowly. Then he spotted what he was searching for and let out an "_ah-ha_" of triumph, squatting down and reaching forward to carefully pull out a large box from its space.

Beth caught a glimpse of the label: _Dixon, Merle/L-333._

"That it?" Daryl asked, his low voice echoing off the walls of boxes around them.

Rick set the box in his hands down on the floor and began lifting the lid. "Yep, this is everythin' we collected." He continued squatting down, setting the lid aside and dunking his hand into the contents of the box.

He began pulling out what looked like large Ziploc bags and setting them down on the floor beside him, each one holding a different object. He lay them out beside one another wordlessly and Beth stared down, watching the evidence appear at her feet, already categorized and labelled and safely preserved within plastic. She recognized each and every object from her vision.

Merle's cell phone. His Desert Eagle. The other two guns that The Governor had stashed under the bed. The rope and noose. And of course, the boxers—the only piece of clothing Merle had been wearing when he died.

"The Governor used that phone," she blurted out, pointing down to the cell phone and looking at Rick with wide eyes. "Did y'all dust it for prints or whatever?"

Rick's eyebrows rose in surprise, but only briefly. He sighed and stood up, waving a hand lazily towards the bags of evidence lying on the floor. "Along with testin' fer gunpowder residue an' all that good stuff, yeah. Durin' the initial investigation. But all we found was Merle's prints. Everything else was wiped clean. This Governor guy was thorough. He didn't leave anything we coulda caught, even if we'd done a full-scale investigation."

"He called me," Daryl chimed in.

Beth and Rick turned to the living Dixon with surprise. He cleared his throat and stroked his chin hair nervously, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

"Merle?" Rick asked.

"Nah. The Governor," Daryl clarified.

Rick furrowed his brow and Beth interjected to explain, "I saw it. He found Merle's phone and tried to call Daryl. To see if Daryl would answer. He didn't, but The Governor took his number down. And the other number saved in the phone."

The confusion on Rick's face deepened. "What other number? We went through that phone and the only number he had saved was Daryl. No call logs. All the text messages we dug up were either Daryl or random women Merle had slept with."

Beth blinked and looked over at Daryl to find him just as visibly baffled as she was. She shook her head and turned back to Rick.

"No, he had his dealer's number, too," she said.

Rick put his hands on his hips and tilted his head to the side, eyes squinted. "His dealer? Who was his dealer?"

"Some guy named Jesse," she replied.

"I 'member him," Daryl said. "Li'l tweaker guy. Sold crystal. Got a real bad temper."

"What was 'is last name?" Rick asked.

Beth and Daryl both shrugged, clueless.

The sheriff shook his head and glanced away for a second, thoughtful. Then he sighed and gestured with one hand towards the bags on the ground. "Alright, well—let's focus on openin' one can of worms at a time. G'on, Beth. Open 'em up, hold 'em, whatever ya gotta do."

She glanced over at Daryl reflexively and he met her eyes with a brief nod of assurance. She nodded back and bent down to pick up one of the plastic bags.

The first she chose was the cell phone, since they'd been talking about it. She unsealed the bag with careful fingers, then reached inside and grasped the phone like it was made of glass. Nothing happened, as she'd expected. She pulled it out of the bag and turned it over in her palm, looking down at it and silently willing it to _do_ something. To show her something.

But she felt nothing. Saw nothing.

She looked up to find both men staring at her expectantly, practically holding their breaths in anticipation. She frowned and shook her head, returning the phone to its bag and resealing it.

"Nothin' at all?" Rick asked, the disappointment audible in his voice.

"Nothin'," Beth said, taking a half-step forward and returning the first piece of evidence to its box.

She was already grabbing up the next bag—the Desert Eagle—when Rick urged, "Try another one. Maybe a weapon."

"Might as well put them drawers back," Daryl remarked. "She ain't gonna touch those with a ten-foot pole."

Beth paused and shot Daryl an appreciative smirk.

Rick chuckled, snatching up the bag that contained Merle's underwear and tossing them back into the box. "Yeah, I figured that'd be the case."

She carefully unsealed the Desert Eagle and reached in, barely grazing the handle with her fingertips. No shock of electricity, no sudden visions or enveloping blackness. Just the cold metal of a gun. She went as far as wrapping a hand around it, keeping her finger far away from the trigger.

But still, nothing happened.

"Damn," Rick grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest and frowning as he gauged Beth's reactions.

She sighed, beginning to feel a bit defeated as she zipped the bag back up and leaned forward to set it in the box amongst the other two pieces of evidence.

Maybe she wasn't getting as powerful as she'd thought… Maybe that vision at the cabin had been a rare bout of luck. She hadn't particularly expected to learn anything new by trying Rick's cinematic approach, yet she'd gone and gotten her hopes up a little too high all the same. And now she was afraid she'd let them down.

More than anything, she was afraid she'd let _Daryl_ down. What if she wasn't allowed to see _anything_ else after that scene at the cabin? What if she was no good for anything more than talking to his dead brother, who was literally _no_ _help_ in solving his own murder?

Daryl was _relying_ on her now. On her newfound powers. On her mysterious Gift. She _couldn't_ let him down. Not after they'd come this far. She couldn't bear to be the reason that they wound up hitting a dead end.

Beth silently willed herself to _do it again_; channel this stupid Gift, think like the Swamp Witch and the Witch of Youghal, remember what Maggie had said about being powerful and having a choice, be the medium or psychic or whatever that Rick and Daryl were so convinced she was.

_This is my __**choice**__, _she remembered. _I __**need**__ to help because I __**want**__ to help. More than I've ever wanted anything before._

She bent down and snatched up both bags that held the other two guns, her expectations low. She wasn't disappointed when she unzipped them one at a time and reached in to hold them for a moment. Nothing happened, but she hadn't expected it to.

Rick let out a quiet groan of defeat. Daryl remained silent, patiently watching, his shoulders tense and his jaw clenched.

Once the two guns were resealed and tucked back into the box where they belonged, she reached for the final piece of evidence: the rope and noose.

As soon as her fingers made contact with the plastic that enveloped the noose, she felt the tiny hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. She told herself she was just nervous because two pairs of very anxious eyes were set on her, watching and waiting with bated breath, gauging her every movement and interpreting her every expression. But something was churning in her stomach and she _knew_. She knew this piece of evidence might be _the_ piece of evidence.

Beth slowly unzipped the bag. And she bristled. Her head began to grow light, swimming and airy. She ignored it and pushed forward.

But she knew that Daryl could see the blood slowly draining from her face. She felt him inching closer, saw him taking a sideways step toward her from the corner of her eye. He was tense. And though she wasn't sure why, so was she.

The plastic was like ice against her skin as she reached her hand inside. The second she wrapped her fingers around the thick, frayed rope, a jolt of electricity coursed through her veins.

She'd tried to prepare herself. She'd made a silent inner promise that she wouldn't black out and embarrass herself again like she had at the cabin. She'd be _ready_ this time. If, _somehow_, Rick's hunch was right, then she'd be more experienced this time around. She'd know what to expect when it came to being thrown into a "psychic" vision. That weird abysmal darkness wouldn't consume her and catch her completely off-guard for a _third_ time. She'd make sure of it.

Then the blackness returned, beginning at the edge of her vision and quickly pooling inward to swallow up everything around her. Daryl and Rick disappeared. The ground fell away beneath her feet. She couldn't _feel_ herself falling, but she knew it was happening.

It was kind of like drifting off to sleep: simultaneously slow and rapid, building for what felt like hours yet dribbling away within milliseconds. There was no edge of consciousness that she could cautiously step across, because it was one long staircase that quickly morphed into a slip 'n slide.

It was more like falling asleep and falling off a cliff in the same moment, in the same half-blink of an eye.

And before she could so much as catch her breath, she was descending beneath the depths of a place that lay somewhere between dreaming and remembering.

Everything went silent.

Oh, _goddammit_…

So much for being prepared.

**to be continued… **


	35. Touching Stuff and Seeing Things

**Touching Stuff and Seeing Things**

Reluctantly, Beth opened her eyes. She blinked and the blackness faded away. She tried to take a deep breath, but it was impossible. Her lungs were coated in ice, her throat raw and dry. She looked around, taking in her surroundings.

This wasn't another plane. She could tell by the grainy haze that seemed to hang in the air, the low hum of static that filled her ears. This was another glimpse into the past.

She pushed through her disorientation and remembered: Daryl. Merle. Rick. The Governor.

_Yes_. She was here for a reason. She recalled it now. She'd touched something, and as a result, she was being shown a vision.

This was her Gift. _She_ was the one in power. _She_ was the one in control. It was a privilege to see what she was seeing, and she had to take in every detail, had to commit it all to memory and come back to Daryl and Rick with the important information.

A quiet voice echoed at the very back of her head: _Here's not here._

The crystalline ice around her lungs melted away all at once. Her mouth and throat filled with air and she breathed in deep, until the oxygen was coursing through her entire body. Her heart thumped loudly inside her chest. She cleared her vision and observed her surroundings. Took a step forward. Another deep breath.

The rope that had wrapped around Merle's neck and strangled him to death held some sort of emotional and spiritual energy within its coarse fibers. It was showing her something.

All she had to do was pay attention.

* * *

_Beth found herself sitting in the backseat of a vehicle she didn't recognize. When she looked forward, she saw him. The back of his head, the profile of his face._

_The Governor._

_He was in the driver's seat of his black Chevy Tahoe, parked alongside the road that led to the Dixons' cabin with the engine shut off and silence filling the cab. A duffel bag sat open in the passenger seat, a handful of zip-ties and other tools resting inside._

_But he was occupied with the thick length of rope grasped in his hands and hanging down across his lap. His fingers worked carefully to twist one end into a noose, as he'd practiced with a dozen other ropes over the last few months._

_All the while, he was grumbling to himself under his breath. Face red and damp with perspiration. Right leg jiggling nervously. Left leg aching painfully. Both hands working tirelessly._

"_Fucking stupid goddamn motherfucker. You're gonna pay—pay fer __**robbin'**__ me of the pleasure of killing your retarded backwoods daddy. I'm gonna give you everything I shoulda gave him, you stupid fuckin' prick. Goddamn Dixon's, no-good, waste-of-space, redneck pieces of fuckin' trash… Gonna skin every last one'a y'all and watch ya bleed to death… Fucking… stupid… __**assholes**__…! Can't wait ta see the demon spawn of Will __**White Trash**__ Dixon hanging from the end of this pretty little rope. Every last one of you hick motherfuckers is gonna be __**begging**__ The Governor for one more chance… Yeah… I'm gonna get what I'm owed. You better __**believe**__ that… I'll exterminate this godforsaken bloodline. I'm fixin' to rid the __**earth**__ of these abominations. Gonna find that fucking money—then I'm gonna piss on Will's grave and wipe my ass with a fifty-dollar bill. In his __**memory**__. Backstabbin' piece of __**shit**__—"_

_His phone began vibrating in his pocket and he paused, setting the rope down. He reached into his pocket and extracted his phone, looking at the screen. It was an Unknown number. But he had a pretty good idea who it was._

_He answered and tapped the Speakerphone button with slight exasperation. An automated voice cut in and out: "—ral Prison… collect call from…" Then a very gruff and flat voice: "Caesar Martinez." The robotic voice returned to ask: "Will you accept the charges?"_

_The Governor grunted unhappily and hit End Call, shoving his phone back into his pocket without a second thought. He picked up the rope and went back to tightly knotting the noose. Back to grumbling angrily to himself._

"…_stupid fuckin' asshole… didn't look out for __**my**__ ass when it mattered—the hell does he think __**I'm**__ gonna do from the outside? I'm just as fucking broke as his worthless ass. Why the fuck would I talk to him over a recorded phone call and risk everything I've been planning? Pompous fuckin' Spic. Ignorant motherfucker never learned his lesson. Wouldn't know what discretion meant even if… __**fuck**__! Can't believe I let him pull me into his goddamn sinkhole of stupidity. I shoulda killed him when I had the chance. Hell, I never even shoulda given him the goddamn time of day. All the shit I did for him… __**Now**__ look at me, limping around like some worthless fucking cripple. Fucking cowards. Idiots. Absolute imbeciles…"_

_He finally finished the noose, yanking one end and cinching it tightly. His angry frown curled slowly upward until it was a malicious smile. He chuckled to himself, turning the rope over in his hands, inspecting his work and testing its strength._

"_Yeah. This oughta do real nice."_

_Then he leaned over and tucked it into the duffel bag before zipping the bag shut. Still smirking with satisfaction. His leg had stopped jiggling and now he was just giddy with excitement._

_The thrill of a new kill. And a __**justified**__ kill, at that. What a day it would be._

_Not to mention… the money he would inevitably be rewarded with. As long as Merle cooperated, anyway._

_But if he didn't?_

_The Governor reached over and opened his glovebox, checking to make sure the box of matches was still there. They were. Sitting right underneath the loaded Colt .45._

_So if this didn't work, well… he had a backup plan. He might've fucked up killing Daryl Dixon once, but he certainly wouldn't let __**that**__ happen again. _

_He grabbed the gun and set it carefully atop the duffel bag, shutting the glovebox and reaching back over to turn the key in the ignition. The engine came to life and he gazed through the windshield, toward the long dirt road that lay ahead._

"_Time to pay up, Dixon," he mumbled aloud as he shifted into Drive._

_Beth felt herself being yanked backward, like an invisible hand was reaching into her back and tugging on her spine. But she resisted it. She kept her eyes wide open and tried to take in every detail. But the connection was breaking and she was being shoved back to reality. _

_On the way out, she caught a glimpse of the back of the SUV she'd just been sitting inside. Just another vehicle rumbling down the dirt road, nothing identifiable—_

_Then she realized she could see the license plate. And as the blackness began to consume her and everything around her went silent once more, colors and shapes and sounds all dribbling away like wet paint, she managed to focus on the letters and numbers of the plate. She kept repeating them inside her head until it was burned into her brain._

_Right before she was swallowed up by the darkness, she spotted a familiar image hovering before her: a big black dog with glowing red eyes. It was baring its teeth, snarling and growling._

_And it was angry. Even angrier than The Governor had been. She could __**feel**__ it._

* * *

The first sound that filled Beth's ears as she returned to consciousness was Daryl's voice. But he didn't sound frantic or concerned like back at the cabin. Instead, he was speaking low, calm and measured.

She was confused at first, wondering if he was talking to her, grasping at memories and trying to recall what had happened. It dawned on her much quicker than last time. She remembered touching the noose, being thrown into a vision, watching The Governor as he prepared to murder Merle.

By the time the blackness had ebbed away, she surmised that Daryl had to be talking to Rick.

"—maybe a full minute, but she was fine when she came to. I dunno if…"

His voice trailed off as soon as her eyes fluttered open. She felt the hard floor beneath her and something rough against her back and quickly realized that she was sitting on the floor of the evidence room, leaning against the shelves of boxes. She saw Daryl kneeling down beside her, one hand gently clasping her upper arm. And Rick was on the other side, squatting down and eyeballing Beth with a concerned and slightly fearful expression on his face.

"You good?" Daryl asked, giving her arm a squeeze and meeting her eyes.

She nodded weakly, licking her lips and sitting up. She still felt a bit dazed, and when she looked down, she realized the noose and rope was still loosely clutched in her hand, the plastic bag sitting on the floor beside her leg. She dropped the rope like it had burnt her and shook her head.

The vision flashed through her mind very briefly, sending a shiver down her spine.

"Crap," she muttered, looking first at Daryl then at Rick, embarrassed. "Did I pass out again?"

"Yer eyes rolled inta the back of yer head," Rick burst out, clearly still concerned. "_Jesus_, Beth. I thought you was havin' a damn stroke—"

"Told you it was _fine_," Daryl interjected. He turned to Beth and assured her, "Ya weren't out as long this time. Didn't let ya fall neither."

"Huh?" She asked.

"You touched that noose an' then it was like ya—_blacked out_ or somethin'," Rick explained, gawking at Beth. "Yer face went all pale, you went topplin' over. But Daryl caught ya 'fore ya hit the ground. Like he was _expectin'_ it."

"She damn near cracked her skull open at the cabin," Daryl said, rolling his eyes at the sheriff's astonishment. "Figured if it happened once, it'd happen again. I was jus' prepared this time."

"Does that mean you saw somethin'?" Rick asked, quirking a brow and looking at Beth expectantly.

She nodded slowly.

He flashed a grin and pumped his arm in celebration. "_Yes_! I knew it, I knew them psychic powers would spark up once ya touched some evidence. Jus' like on TV!"

Daryl ignored Rick and asked her, "Anythin' that'll help us?" He released her arm, retracting his hand when he realized she was able to sit up on her own. "Didn't catch his real name this time, did'ja?"

She frowned and shook her head.

"What _did_ you see?" Rick urged, unable to tear his eyes away from Beth's.

Beth leaned back against the boxes once more and sighed, shutting her eyes for a moment as she recalled where she'd gone. It played in the blacks of her eyelids like a distant memory.

Her voice poured out past dry lips, "The Governor. He was in his truck, tying the noose an' cursing the Dixon name. He was on his way to Merle's cabin to kill him. And… he got a phone call."

"From who?" Daryl asked, beating Rick to the punch.

She opened her eyes and found both men staring at her, hanging on her every word. "Somebody in a prison. I didn't catch the name, but I think it mighta been a federal prison… Caesar Martinez. He tried ta call The Governor. But The Governor rejected it."

Rick let out a deep sigh and frowned, furrowing his brow. "Damn. That could be anybody. There's about a dozen Caesar Martinez's in any given prison. Federal or otherwise."

"Y'couldn't try an' look 'im up anyway?" Daryl suggested.

Rick shook his head. "It'd be a waste of time. We could never narrow it down. Even if we did, who's ta say this Caesar guy would talk to us? I have limited access to prison records as it is. He could be anybody; an old buddy, an accomplice, maybe even a relative. Could be he's still on The Governor's side."

Daryl let out a sigh of frustration.

"I mean, we could try," Rick added with forced optimism. "But this ain't the kinda lead I'd jump into following if I was doin' an official investigation. Most likely just a dead end. We can keep it as a last resort, if anythin'."

Beth had let her eyelids fall shut again, wracking her brain for any other information that could help. Then it hit her very suddenly, churning up from the back of her mind, foggy at first and slowly becoming clearer.

She'd seen it. She'd repeated it to herself over and over, like a hymn or a nursery rhyme. She'd forced herself to remember it.

But that damn dog…

What was it again? All she could picture was that black hound with glowing red eyes. The fury radiating off of it in waves. The bared teeth, the low snarling.

"No," she said.

She opened her eyes to find Daryl and Rick staring at her, confused.

"No what?" Daryl asked.

"There was somethin' else," she clarified. "I don't think I was _supposed_ ta see it. I…"

Wait. _Yes_. She remembered now. The overwhelming sensation of seeing something she wasn't supposed to see. The sight of the back of The Governor's big black Chevy.

"His license plate," she huffed out.

Rick's eyes widened and lit up. Daryl's eyebrows rose.

"You saw The Governor's license plate?" Rick questioned.

Beth nodded, feeling more and more certain by the second. The numbers and letters were falling together inside her head, slowly but surely.

"Yeah," she explained. "I caught a glimpse at the very end. It was an Alabama plate."

Daryl still appeared surprised and he'd begun chewing on his lower lip, looking back and forth between Beth and Rick.

But the sheriff was grinning, already standing up and gesturing for them to get to their feet and join him. "Well—c'mon then, what're we wastin' time for? Let's get back upstairs so we can look up the plate. I wanna know this guy's name before supper time."

* * *

Even with Beth's "psychic powers" on their side, they seemed to be hitting a new obstacle at every turn.

"God_dammit_!" Daryl cursed, slashing his arm through the air angrily and taking a step back from Rick's desk.

"No, it's alright," Rick assured, grabbing a notepad and a pen and jotting down a name. "This is fine. This is a lead, Daryl—a _good_ lead. I can contact the rental car company an' find out whose name the SUV is under. That'll take us straight to The Governor."

Beth couldn't help but feel the same disappointment that Daryl was audibly experiencing. But Rick sounded pretty confident, so she tried to remain hopeful. Just because the license plate belonged to a rental car didn't mean they couldn't still track him down.

At the very least, they'd find out his real name. They had a police officer on their side, which opened a lot more doors than they'd normally have access to.

"An' how're you gonna convince 'em ta give you that kinda information?" Daryl asked, beginning to pace angrily on the other side of the desk. "Ain't they got confidentiality policies an' shit fer that? Pro'lly won't give us a damn thing without a good reason."

Rick smirked and gave the other man a smug look. "I'm a _cop_. They'll tell me whatever I wanna know."

"Yer a _sheriff_ in a _honky _town," Daryl argued. "That rental place isn't even within yer jurisdiction."

Rick scoffed and waved him off without the slightest hint of offense, turning back to his computer and typing for a brief moment. "Don't you worry 'bout _my_ jurisdiction. This ain't my first rodeo, hoss. Jus' relax an' let me do what I do best. Yer soul ain't doomed yet."

Beth shot Daryl a look that said she agreed, and maybe he should have a little more faith. Daryl interpreted her silent message and shrugged, frowning heavily. He went back to pacing, chewing on the end of his thumb out of nervous habit.

"You gonna call 'em right now?" She asked, watching Rick jot down a phone number and address beneath the name on his notepad.

"Nah, their office is already closed," he replied, setting his pen down and looking up to meet her gaze. "But I can call 'em first thing in the morning. They'll prob'ly only release that kinda information in person, so we may have ta wait till I can find a chance to drive into the city an' flash my badge. Maybe tomorrow afternoon."

"What time?" Daryl asked. "I can call outta work tomorra an' come with ya."

Rick shrugged. "I'll have ta see what my schedule's like when I get in, but I'll keep y'all updated." He looked from Daryl back to Beth. "Yer gonna come along too, I reckon?"

Beth paused before shaking her head. "I can't. Tomorrow is the memorial."

"Oh, right," Rick quickly said, realization dawning upon his face. "Sorry, Beth. It slipped my mind."

"No, it's fine," she assured.

"What about Saturday?" Daryl asked, looking from Beth to Rick.

"Depends how tomorrow night goes 'fore I'll know how much free time I'll have," Rick replied.

"I should be free," Beth answered simply.

Daryl nodded and pointed to Rick as he said, "Alright, then me an' you can make a visit ta that rental car place tomorra, see what we can find—" then he pointed to Beth "—an' if that insurance company gets back to us, we can all go have a talk with whoever works there on Saturday." He raised his eyebrows, awaiting their approval of his plan.

Rick appeared somewhat surprised by Daryl's determination, and admittedly, Beth was a little surprised, too. He'd seemed no more than complacent throughout this whole thing. Until the cabin. Now he was ready to jump in and take charge, formulating plans and insisting that they don't waste any time.

It was pretty nice, actually. It made her feel much more confident about the entire situation.

Rick nodded in agreement. "Sounds good to me." Then he stood and motioned towards the door. "Best be headin' out now 'fore the sitter decides to charge me fer another hour. I'll get a hold of y'all tomorrow, as soon as I talk to somebody from the rental car place."

"Jus' call me," Daryl instructed. "I'll keep my phone on an' let my boss know I might be takin' a half day."

Rick smirked and asked, "Well, y'all will be together after the memorial, right? So if I can't reach you, I'll jus' call Beth."

Daryl shrugged. "Not necessarily."

Rick's smirk faded into an expression of confusion. "You…" He paused and glanced at Beth briefly, then finished, "Wait. The _dating_ thing wasn't a lie, too—was it?"

Beth felt her face heating up.

Daryl scoffed. "'Course it was a lie. Only reason we're hangin' out is 'cause of Merle. Weren't you listening when she told ya how she tracked me down?"

"Oh. I jus' thought…" Rick actually appeared a bit disappointed. Then he shrugged and chuckled awkwardly. "Well shit, ya coulda fooled me."

Beth chose to ignore that comment.

And though she knew Daryl had heard it, he was already heading for the door and pretending he hadn't.

* * *

By the time they got back to Beth's house, the sun was sinking behind the horizon and a biting breeze had picked up. She clung a little tighter than usual to Daryl's back, pressing close against him for protection from the cold wind while also trying to soak up his body heat through the thin leather vest. She loosened her grip once they slowed and turned into the long driveway that led up to the farmhouse.

He stopped the bike a couple yards away from the back porch and put his feet down on the ground, silencing the engine. She unwrapped her arms from around his middle and leaned away, pulling off her helmet and shaking out her hair before she stepped off the motorcycle. Then she handed him the helmet and stood awkwardly, unsure if she should bid him goodnight and turn to leave right away or… thank him. Or something.

Even though she knew this was more of a favor from _her_, she still felt like she should be thanking _him_. Maybe just for being understanding? Or for being willing to take charge when she was overwhelmed and at a loss for answers? If nothing else, she definitely owed him one for not letting her crack her skull on the floor of the Sheriff's Department evidence room.

But before she could find the right words to say, he was giving her a clipped nod and muttering, "So—see ya tomorrow? After yer uh, family thing?"

"After my mom's memorial, yeah," she agreed softly.

"Right," he said. "After yer mom's memorial."

She smiled when she noticed his shoulders relaxing, his jaw unclenching.

"Can you text me as soon as you hear from Rick?" She asked. "And then if there's any developments, I'll call you when I get a chance."

He nodded. "Sure. I'll keep ya in the loop, jus' text me back if ya have time."

"Um—if nothin' ends up happenin'," she started, glancing away and fiddling with the hem of her shirt. "You'd be welcome to join us. Like, fer lunch or whatever. It's not a _strictly_ family thing, and my dad's always happy ta have more company."

When she finally met his eyes again, she found him studying her, scrubbing a hand across the scruff of his jaw. Then he muttered, "I'ono, still don't feel right. Figured I'd give ya some space fer the day. Hopefully Merle does, too."

"Right," she quickly agreed, smiling and hoping to God that her cheeks weren't flushing pink right now. She couldn't really tell because of the cold breeze nipping at her face. "Well, he hasn't shown back up since before we left the cabin. I'll prob'ly regret sayin' this, but I kinda wish he _would_ show up again. I have a lotta questions."

Daryl grunted. "Me, too." He gripped the handlebars of his bike and cleared his throat. "Alrigh', Greene. I'll text ya tomorrow."

Beth took a step back and smiled as he started up the motorcycle, and when the loud rumbling filled her ears, she spoke up over it, "Okay, see you tomorrow—and hey. Thank you."

He furrowed his brow, raising his voice over the noise. "Fer what?"

She shrugged. "I dunno, fer everything. For not lettin' me fall an' bust my head open."

The corner of his mouth twitched and he looked down, gripping the handlebars a little tighter. "Right. Well, you too." Then he revved the bike and said, "Get some sleep tonight."

She tried not to smile too wide. "I will. 'Night, Daryl. Drive safe."

A moment later, as she watched him drive away, she found herself still smiling. And what was the deal with the weird fluttering in her stomach?

Food, she decided. She was just hungry. That's all.

* * *

Maggie was wiping down the kitchen counters when Beth stepped through the backdoor. The eldest Greene sibling paused to look over in surprise, wadding up the wet paper towel in her hands and tossing it into the nearby trash can. She offered Beth a smile.

"Hey, yer back earlier than I expected."

Beth smiled back, uninhibited. "Yeah. Did I miss supper?"

Maggie gestured towards the fridge. "I saved you a plate. I was jus' finishing cleanin' up."

Beth chuckled. "Just like old times, huh? Always on kitchen duty."

Maggie rolled her eyes. "No, I just thought I'd give Dad an' Shawn a break while I'm here. They work hard." She paused and her smile faded. "Ya know?"

Beth glanced away awkwardly and walked to the fridge. "Yeah. Harder than they should have to." She opened the door and spotted the covered plate Maggie had saved for her. But she reached past it to grab a bottle of water. She could hear the sound of talking and laughter from the other room. "Is everybody in the sittin' room?"

"Yeah," Maggie replied, leaning back against the counter's edge and watching Beth shut the fridge and open the water bottle. "Dad busted out his bowl of candy corn. I guess it's Glenn's favorite Halloween candy, too." She feigned an exasperated look and laughed.

Beth smiled. "Match made in heaven." She took a swig of water.

"So what'd you find out today?" Maggie asked. "Did you guys talk to Rick?"

Beth clasped the bottle of water between both hands, eyebrows raised. "Uh, yeah… to say the least. It was a long day."

"You wanna tell me about it?"

Beth hesitated. But it only took a couple of seconds before she'd decided, yeah. She _did_ wanna tell her sister about the long day she'd just had. Maybe it would make it feel a little more real. Maybe she could begin to untangle the mess of information that was currently filling her head. If there was anyone she could open up to about all this, it was Maggie. Surprisingly. _Relievingly_.

"Sure," she replied. "Lemme put my stuff away an' change first. You wanna sit on the porch? It's pretty nice out."

Maggie's smile spread into a genuine grin.

* * *

Beth opened the door to her bedroom, stepping inside and simultaneously slipping her purse off her shoulder while reaching over and flipping the lightswitch. The room lit up and the first thing she saw was Merle, sitting on the edge of her bed and staring down at his clasped hands in his lap.

She jumped, yelping in surprise, "_Jesus_!"

He raised his head and flashed her a crooked smile. "Hey now, yer daddy wouldn't want ya takin' the Lord's name in vain like that," he quipped. But his icy blue eyes lacked their usual sparkle.

She sighed and shut the door behind her, setting her purse aside before narrowing her eyes and glaring him down. "And where the hell have _you_ been?"

Merle frowned and scoffed. "All you've done is bitch that I never leave ya alone, an' now that I did, yer gonna _bitch_ that I was gone? Make up yer goddamn mind already, princess."

Beth snapped back, "We could've used yer _help_ today, ya know. Don't think I haven't noticed that you only bail when yer too _scared_ to face the truth."

He scowled, crossing his arms over his chest. "Yeah well, I'm ready ta face the fuckin' truth now, so how 'bout ya jus' shut that trap an' listen. 'Cause we need ta _talk_."

"So which is it—am I supposed to _listen_ or are we supposed to _talk_?" She asked sarcastically.

He rolled his eyes. "Don't be a smartass. Can't you read a fuckin' room?"

She pursed her lips, swallowing back a retort. The _audacity_ of this dead guy…

"This is _serious_," he went on, lowering his voice and staring at her with what was possibly the most stoic expression she'd seen him wear thus far. "I didn't wanna talk about it 'round Daryl. Don't concern him none. It ain't gonna affect the outcome of this ass-backwards fuckin' demon deal—'s just more red tape. Ya _feel_ me?"

Despite her growing frustration, Beth nodded in understanding and kept her mouth shut, silently urging him to go on.

Trepidation flickered across his face. His voice was no more than a croaky whisper as he told her, "It's only gonna make him resent me… gonna make 'im hate my fuckin' guts. If he doesn't already."

Her stomach tightened. But she remained quiet.

He let out a deep and tired sigh, shoulders slumping with defeat. "The money existed. _Okay?_ It was there. I found it. And I ain't _proud_, but…"

He paused and licked his lips, tearing his eyes away from hers to stare down at his lap.

And if she wasn't mistaken, he looked… downright guilty.

Was Merle Dixon actually feeling _remorse_ right now? Beth couldn't be sure.

Then he said, low and half-choked, "I spent it. Every last cent."

"You stupid son of a bitch."

**to be continued… **


	36. Family Dynamics

**Family Dynamics**

"Fine, I'll let ya have that one," Merle spat, jumping to his feet and uncrossing his arms. "Maybe I deserve it. But y'can't fault a man fer tryin', alrigh'? I'm tellin' ya the truth, aren't I? The hell else you _want_ from me? I can't make the money reappear, can't pull it outta my ass an' pay off this Governor prick."

"You _knew_ where that money came from," Beth argued, jabbing an accusatory finger in Merle's direction and struggling to keep her voice lowered. "And you _still_ spent it! How _could_ you?! Even if you didn't know about your dad's _business partner_, you knew that money should've gone to _Daryl_—of all people, it should've gone to the one who almost _died_ because of it."

Merle slashed an arm through the air angrily. "Oh, fuck off! What's done is done, y'ain't gonna get nowhere lecturing a fuckin' _dead_ _guy_ about how he spent some money."

Beth sputtered, indignant. "_Some_ money?! It was over a _hundred grand_, how the hell d'you just spend that much on yourself without even _thinking_ about your brother?"

He scowled, crossing his arms over his chest once more and squaring his shoulders. "I don't fuckin' know, but I did it. And there ain't no gettin' it back now. It's gone. How 'bout you just be happy that The Governor won't ever see a dime of it? Ugly bastard don't deserve no reward after all this."

"The Governor never would've seen it anyway—me and Daryl and Rick would've made _sure_ of that," she snapped. "But that's not the _point_."

"I _told_ you I ain't proud! What more d'you want from me, woman?"

"Nothing. You're right, Daryl _will_ hate your guts for this. And I won't blame him one bit."

Merle furrowed his brow, his frown deepening. "Why's he gotta know? 'S not important, it doesn't change anything—"

"Oh, it does," she interrupted. "It changes a lotta things. Like the fact that we thought we might be able to _trust_ you when it came to saving your own soul. Shoulda known that was too much to expect from the likes of _you_."

"Ease up, blondie. I know what I did, alrigh'? And I waited ta tell you 'cause you fuckin' _suck_ at hidin' yer emotions. How 'bout we just keep it between us? Daryl's better off thinkin' there wasn't ever any money left ta begin with."

"I don't care _what_ you think he's better off knowing—you're the asshole who put Daryl's soul on the line to begin with! And y'know, makin' a deal with a demon isn't exactly the _smartest_ idea. He promised you a nicer place in Hell, but what d'you think that really _means_? Y'know demons lie all the time, right? Like, you're aware of this well-known fact? So are you thinkin' maybe the fire won't be quite as hot? Maybe they'll let you have smoke breaks in between your torture sessions? 'Cause yer gonna have a _lot_ to answer for, even if we do—"

"_SHUT_ the fuck _UP_ already!"

Merle flickered and disappeared, reappearing inches away from Beth's face a split-second later. His own face was bright red with anger, and spittle flew from his lips as he yelled, jabbing a finger that she couldn't feel into her chest.

"I've _been_ helpin' yer ditzy ass out through this whole fuckin' thing—'member?! It was because of _me_ that you finally fuckin' tracked Daryl down! Ya stubborn li'l _bitch_! You think I don't know how bad I fucked up?! Y'think I don't see the goddamn _error of my ways_ by now? There ain't no takin' it back, the money's _GONE_!"

Beth merely narrowed her eyes, lips pursed tightly as she glared back at him, unfazed by his temper tantrum. "Were you lying about remembering your death, too?"

He took a step back, clearly caught off-guard by her question. He gave her an indignant look and said, "No! What the fuck? I never even _lied_ about the money, y'just didn't _ask_ me about it! Not _exactly_, anyway. How was I s'posed ta know it'd have anything ta do with my murder?"

She rolled her eyes and sighed, exasperated. "Why _else_ would someone wanna kill you? How could you have possibly thought that much money would've just gone… _unnoticed_? You had to've known that your dad didn't pull that off all on his own."

Merle's face was fading from red to pale white rather quickly. He frowned, crossing his arms over his chest. "Never got a name. That asshole wouldn't fuckin' spill it. I had to break both his wrists 'fore he'd even tell me where the money was stashed."

Beth's breath hitched in her chest and she blinked, taken aback. "You'd better be _joking_ right now."

"Does it _look_ like I'm jokin', blondie?"

She didn't know what to say to that. She just frowned, glaring at the dead Dixon with disgust.

He licked his lips and squared his shoulders, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. The corner of his mouth twitched, though he remained scowling. His voice came out lower, still sharp with anger and resentment, but Beth could detect the slightest hint of sadness underneath his icy tone.

"I knew 'bout that insurance scam fer _years_. So did half the fuckin' town. Never made no difference. That stubborn old bastard wasn't ever gonna 'fess up. I couldn't even be all that mad—the hell was there ta be mad about? Daryl didn't die. I got a bunch a free crystal outta the whole thing, a reliable income, an inheritance that wouldn't've existed otherwise… shit, if ya ask me, our ma got the best deal outta everybody. If she didn't die in that fire, she woulda eventually taken a beating that she couldn't get back up from. She got a one-way ticket outta the Dixon family altogether… Good fer her. An' she was never no good fer Daryl—too soft, too forgiving, too _weak_. Coddled him too damn much. Couldn't do fuck-all ta protect his sorry li'l ass. It was _always_ me. If it wasn't fer reliable ol' Merle, crybaby Daryl wouldn'ta made it past puberty."

Beth bit her tongue, holding back a slew of insults. It seemed Merle was always finding new ways to shock and appall her.

He shrugged, almost indifferent, and a malicious glint appeared in his eyes. The corner of his mouth curled upward and he said, "I reckoned I'd find that money eventually. I knew he didn't spend it all, knew he'd hidden half somewhere. He was always mumblin' under his breath about some _'safety net'_ that his _parasitic sons_ would never get their hands on… So yeah, I knew 'bout the scam, I knew 'bout the money. But I never _planned_ on killing him. Then I saw them scars on Daryl's back. Sneaky little fucker kept 'em hidden all these years, never told me just _how_ bad it got while I was overseas."

He paused and barked out a humorless laugh, squinting at Beth. "Yer boy can lie just as well as me, blondie. And don't you forget it. We was both raised the same way. We don't say _shit_ unless there's somethin' ta be had for _us_."

Beth swallowed hard. She wanted to argue, but then she realized… maybe he was right. Daryl was a Dixon before he was anything else. And if anyone knew him, it was Merle. She'd only just met him less than a week ago, after all.

"I didn't think 'bout the money till I already had the knife to my pa's throat," Merle went on. "And that's the truth. I was seein' red. I was out fer _blood_. When I finally got around to askin' him how he pulled it off—how the _fuck_ he managed to buy into such a huge plan an' set it all up so there was no criminal investigation—he laughed at me… Sat there with a busted face an' two broken wrists… And he fucking _laughed_ at me."

His smirk disappeared and Beth could see the fury sparking to life in his expression. She watched him swallow thickly, jaw tensed, muscles tight.

Then he let out a huff of breath and finished flatly, "So I slid my blade across his throat till he _stopped_ laughing."

Beth didn't realize she'd been holding her breath until her lungs began to ache. She slowly let it out, deflating in more ways than one.

Merle shrugged and casually added, "Maybe I woulda split the money with Daryl if he hadn't stopped talkin' to me. But I called him, and he didn't answer. So I didn't try again. Not my fault he couldn't pull his head out of his ass an' realize he _needed_ me. I ain't one to go beggin' fer somebody's attention neither."

Beth merely scoffed. "Coulda fooled me."

* * *

Merle disappeared after another angry, profanity-laden rant about how "ungrateful" and "difficult" Beth was being. And though she knew she probably should have, she didn't bother trying to call him back. She still had a lot of questions for him, including whether he knew what they'd discovered from Rick and the Sheriff's Department.

But she was admittedly too exhausted to delve any farther into it for the night. There was a lot to process from the day, and she knew there was nothing more she could do until after the memorial anyway, so she opted to take advantage of the peace and quiet while she had it. Besides, she had a feeling Merle would be reappearing to bother her before she got the chance to go to bed.

She changed into sweatpants and a lightweight sweater and went downstairs to find Maggie waiting for her. Beth scarfed down the plate of food that had been saved for her before joining her sister on the back porch with two glasses of lemonade.

While the rest of the Greene family sat inside and chatted away, Beth and Maggie sat in the pair of rocking chairs on the porch and talked over the chirping of crickets and hooting of owls. Beth kept her voice low as she started with revealing the patricide and the insurance scam and the tens of thousands of dollars that had become the origin story for an intricately-weaved tale of family strife and murder. She tried to ignore her sister's expression of shock and awe as she went through the timeline and laid out all the gruesome facts.

Maggie remained silent, surprisingly free of judgment, listening with wide eyes and a slack jaw as Beth described what had happened at the cabin, what had been discovered at the Sheriff's Department, what she'd experienced after touching a piece of evidence. She recounted the events of the day, relaying all the new information she'd learned, spilling her heart out to her older sister and voicing all her doubts and fears for the first time all day. She finished with a lament about how confusing her Gift was proving to be.

Maggie nodded along and offered quiet words of encouragement where she could. And when she had no good advice to give, she simply assured Beth that everything would work out as it should. Which Beth didn't exactly believe, but she appreciated the sentiment nonetheless.

They'd been talking for close to an hour when Beth's phone vibrated from the pocket of her sweatpants. It was a text message from Daryl.

_Did Merle show back up yet?_

She quickly texted back, though she hesitated and reworded the message about half a dozen times before pressing Send.

_Yeah. I asked him about the money… _

Daryl responded within seconds: _He spent it, didn't he?_

Her heart skipped and she sent a reply: _He didn't want me to tell you. I was a little scared to, but you have to know that the money did exist and that it's already gone. How did you know?_

Less than a minute later, her phone screen lit up with his next text message: _It's Merle. I know him. Why were you scared to tell me? Not like I'd be mad at you. Not your fault._

She wasn't sure why, but reading that gave her a bit of relief. She texted back even quicker than before, her fingers flying across the screen as she typed.

_Idk. It just makes everything harder. Now we really have no choice but to deal with The Governor head on because what he wants is already gone._

When his next text arrived thirty seconds later, she couldn't help but hear Daryl's voice in her head. And she smiled to herself.

_We were never gonna give him what he wants. Unless he wants trouble. Cuz that's what we got for him._

She was typing back a response when a second message arrived: _Don't worry. We'll get him. A psychic and a redneck, remember?_

Her smile grew wider.

"Is that Daryl?"

Beth stopped typing and looked up to see Maggie watching her curiously, eyebrows raised.

She quickly locked her phone, shoving it back into her pocket. "I was just telling him about what Merle said."

"So did he take it well?" Maggie urged. Beth had already told her that she was nervous to relay the news about the money for fear of how angry or hurt he might be.

She shrugged. "He pretty much already guessed that was the case, so he's not surprised. Doesn't seem too upset either. I just… don't know what he's planning."

"For what?"

"For The Governor. Like… how are we gonna get rid of him if we can't pay him off?"

"Get him arrested? Duh. You have Rick on y'all's side."

"If we can find anything to _get_ him arrested for. Rick's not opening a whole investigation fer this, he already made that perfectly clear. He's pretty much goin' rogue on the whole thing, and I'm ninety-nine percent sure that he's _not_ supposed to be doin' half the stuff he's doing for us."

Maggie _hmph_ed thoughtfully. Then she said, "Well… if Merle thinks he can haunt somebody to death, why doesn't he just haunt The Governor to death? Seems like the simplest solution to me."

Beth laughed, shaking her head. "We have to find him first. Merle might be a ghost, but he's not a bloodhound."

"Damn." Maggie pursed her lips and glanced away in contemplation.

But Beth was thinking about something else. Something that had begun to settle at the back of her head and slowly gnaw away at her conscience. Something that made her terribly uneasy.

"I… ya know, Merle lies. _A lot._ And he—I dunno. I _know_ Daryl is a good person. And I don't think he'd lie about any of this, not to me and _definitely_ not to Rick. But…"

Maggie furrowed her brow, frowning. She leaned on the arm of the rocking chair with her legs criss-crossed in front of her. "Bethy, don't do this."

Beth paused, blinking. "Do what?"

"Start _doubting_ yourself," Maggie responded plainly. "This isn't the time for it. You're already in way too deep to be thinkin' it might not be worth it."

"I'm not _saying_ it might not be worth it," Beth argued. "I just—I don't wanna be taken advantage of. Or made a fool. _You're_ the one who said I have a choice. You said I shouldn't be a _doormat_."

"Yeah, but this _isn't_ what I meant," Maggie countered. "Just this mornin', you were telling me, without a _shred_ of uncertainty, that Daryl Dixon is a _good man_. You were telling me that he didn't grow up like us, that he's different for a reason. And that it doesn't make him any less worthy of your help. So why would you let his asshole brother change your mind? Merle is dead. Daryl's not. There's a _reason_ for that, Beth."

Beth opened her mouth and shut it again. She glanced away, staring down at her hands. But she still couldn't get Merle's words out of her head. Why did she care now? Why was she suddenly letting the worst Dixon get to her? It had been so easy to take everything he said with a grain of salt. Until now. What had changed?

She wasn't sure. But _something_ had changed. And now she was feeling more uncertain than ever. More terrified for the future, for the fate of Daryl's soul, for what else they might uncover along this treacherous path of murder and money and revenge.

Sure, Daryl was _different_. But once again, she was finding herself wondering: was he different _enough_?

"Hey," Maggie chirped up, demanding Beth's attention. "You remember that Bradley kid I told you about? The one I had a crush on in middle school?"

Beth met her sister's eyes with slight confusion. "The one you said Florence Newton mentioned?"

Maggie nodded in affirmation, pulling her phone from the pocket of her jeans and going silent for a second while she unlocked the screen and opened an app. "Yeah—remember how she predicted he'd be a _'heartbreaker'_ one day?"

Beth watched her curiously, waiting. "Yeah…"

A few long moments later, Maggie was holding her phone out so Beth could see the screen as she explained, "And once again, she was right. I kinda forgot about him until I told you about the Witch an' everything she saw. So I got curious and looked him up on Facebook."

Beth saw his profile displayed on Maggie's phone screen: his profile picture was him posing with a blonde woman, and his cover photo was a picture of five red-headed children, all under the ages of ten.

Maggie's voice was full of amusement when she said, "That's his _fourth_ wife. I did some lurking on his profile an' from the sounds of it, he cheated on the first three. After he knocked 'em up a couple times, of course. He doesn't have custody. And this wife just posted an ultrasound, so I think he got her pregnant, too."

"Holy crap," Beth muttered, staring at the screen until it was pulled away.

Maggie smirked and closed the app, locking her phone and putting it back into her pocket. "I know, right? Florence called it… he really _did_ turn out to be a heartbreaker."

Beth shrugged. "Guess so."

Then Maggie looked at her expectantly and added, "She was right about _everything_, Beth."

Beth frowned. "I know."

Maggie's eyebrows rose higher and she spoke more intently, "Remember what I told you about her prediction for you? 'Cause I feel like you already brushed it off as bullshit."

No. Beth remembered. And she most certainly had _not_ brushed it off. Not in the slightest.

"_He is caked in shards of shattered glass yet his soul glows bright and pure, clinging desperately to the remains of the man he is meant to be."_

But right now, the part that was echoing loudest was far more ominous.

"_This man will turn her life upside-down."_

Beth still couldn't figure out if that prediction had been referring to Merle or Daryl. She was almost scared to find out.

"I'm not brushing it off," she said, staring back into Maggie's green eyes with shaky determination. "But I'm not puttin' all my stakes into it, either. What Florence said could be interpreted a lot of ways…"

"No, it really _couldn't_," Maggie said sharply. "He may not be the man he's meant to be just yet, but who is? Don't listen to the guy who sold his own brother's soul to a _demon_… And don't go lettin' yer doubts get the best of you when other people are relying on you to be strong."

Beth felt a knot forming in her throat and quickly forced it down. But she'd already caught Maggie's meaningful glance towards her left wrist. She'd already interpreted the silent reference to a time when she'd buckled under pressure in the worst way possible.

Maggie's voice was softer, more reassuring, when she quietly added, "You can do this, Bethy. Because you _want _to do it. I can hear it in the way you talk about it. I haven't seen you this passionate about something in… _years_. And I think it's good. It might be dangerous, but you're smart. I _believe_ in you. You're not a teenager anymore—you're a _woman_. You can make the right decisions and you can see people for what they really are. And look what you did today—in _one day_; you had two _huge_ visions, you busted open like a dozen leads that would've taken _months_ to find if not for your Gift!" She spoke with the kind of confidence and blind determination that Beth had always wished she could attain. "You have way more gifts than the obvious one. This shit would be wasted on anybody else, because they wouldn't know how to _use_ it like you do. So don't let some asshole dead guy discourage you. I think Daryl needs you… And I think _you_ need _this_. 'Cause you need to know what you're _really_ capable of."

Beth fought back a sudden wave of tears. She felt stupid for wanting to cry, but at the same time, it was difficult not to when her sister was telling her exactly all the things she needed to hear right now.

"And what if… I'm _not_ capable of this? What if I screw it up? What if I _can't_ save Daryl's soul with my stupid Gift? With _any_ of my stupid gifts?"

Maggie shrugged nonchalantly and flashed a crooked smile. "Then you'll figure it out. Daryl's fate isn't set in stone just yet. And you're not in this alone; you have Rick, you have a Swamp Witch, you have a whole _family_ to support you. Whatever happens won't be the end of the world. And no matter how it ends… at the very least, you can say you _tried_. You're givin' everything you've got. No one can fault you for that. Especially when you had a choice to walk away the whole time."

Beth sighed, frustrated. "This isn't an _A for effort _kinda situation, though. This is literally gonna decide what happens to Daryl's soul for _eternity._"

"And… you think he hasn't grasped the gravity of that fact?"

"Well, of course he has, but—"

"_But_ nothing. He's not stupid. You've made that pretty clear. So why d'you suddenly think he'd be stupid enough ta _lie_ to you? About _anything_? To risk his own soul?"

Beth had nothing to say to that. She shrugged awkwardly.

Maggie smirked. "He might have some serious childhood trauma, but he obviously trusts you. And it sounds like he believes in what you can do. So follow suit an' trust your instincts, Bethy. You have a _Gift_. Keep learning how to control it and pretty soon, you'll be in control of _everything_."

Beth looked away, gazing out across the yard with trepidation.

A long moment of silence passed between them, during which Beth attempted to slow her racing mind. She tried to let her sister's words sink in, tried to believe in them the way Maggie seemed to believe in them. She tried to remember that both Pastor Theodore and Lady Jadis had given her similar sentiments, and that Morgan had doubted Merle every step of the way, yet he hadn't once doubted Daryl. Nor had he doubted Beth.

But what did _that_ matter? It wouldn't mean shit if she screwed up. All their advice and words of encouragement would be for nothing if Daryl's soul succumbed to the clutches of Papa Legba.

And maybe it wasn't so much that she was afraid of Daryl lying… Maybe it was just that _she_ was afraid of lying to _him_. Not purposely, of course. But if she couldn't keep him out of Hell, then she may as well have lied to him. Because she would be letting him down. Breaking her word. Dropping the ball when it mattered most, once again.

There'd been a split-second inside Morgan's house, when he'd pointed out her scar and explained why she was so goddamn Gifted, that she'd feared Daryl's judgment. She'd feared his anger, his disappointment, his complete loss of belief in her. Because surely, she'd thought, he would see the scar and find out that she'd tried to take the easy way out after watching her mama die, and then he'd _know_. God help her, he would _know_.

He'd know she was weak. He'd know she was unreliable. He'd know she was no one special, and that she couldn't help herself—so how the hell could she ever be expected to help anyone else? Let alone him? How could he ever put his faith into someone who clearly didn't deserve it? How could he ever lean on someone so lacking in strength for the support he desperately needed? He'd know she was nothing more than a naive little farmer's daughter who was cursed with something that she would never be capable of understanding.

He'd know that he was wasting his time even _talking_ to her.

Then Maggie chuckled, breaking the silence with a light-hearted comment. "Hell, maybe you'll be the next Witch of Youghal, or Swamp Witch or whatever."

Beth rolled her eyes, forcing out a soft laugh.

But she was secretly wondering if there was any truth to be found in that statement. Or if this was all a fruitless endeavor that was bound to end in heartache and disappointment.

"_He will be searching for a light amongst the darkness and he will find it lying within the Greene Farm."_

Could Beth be that light despite the circumstances? Or would she flicker and fade like a burnt-out bulb under the pressure of it all?

**to be continued… **


	37. Dude, Where's My Faith?

**Dude, Where's My Faith?**

_A tow-headed little boy stared up at his darker-haired, older brother. His left eye was swollen and bruised. His voice was whiny and high-pitched._

"_Lemme come with you!"_

_The older boy—a teenager, towering a couple feet over his little brother—responded very sternly, "I already told you, you can't come! You have ta stay here and take care of Mama. I'll be back 'fore ya know it."_

_The younger boy started to cry and suddenly, he was flickering. Changing. His hair and bruised eye remained the same, but his face was different, his clothes flashing from dirty, too-small old rags to name-brand, tailor-fit new garments. Back and forth until he was two different children inhabiting one body, sobbing and pleading with his big brother._

"_But I can't stay here alone with them! You can't leave me again! Why d'you always get to leave, but I don't?! It's not FAIR!"_

_The teenage boy flickered. One second he was tall and gangly with shaggy dark hair, the next he was a few inches shorter with a military-style buzz cut. Bright blue eyes and then dark brown eyes and then blue again. Back and forth, back and forth, until he was two different people at the same time. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out._

_Then both boys disappeared. Everything faded away around them, melding and pooling together in a swirl of shadows and colors._

_There was nothing but darkness. A deep and endless void of nothing. The sound of distant screams echoed from somewhere far away and all around._

_Laughter drowned out the screams. Low and throaty, full of malice._

_A flash of charcoal skin and shining red eyes. The gleam of pearly white teeth. The laughter grew louder before it cut off abruptly._

_It was replaced with a deep voice. Terrifying and familiar. A dog was growling somewhere in the distance._

"_Ah, the Visitor is trying to visit where they do not belong. You truly are a willful one, just like all those before you. What is it you think you'll see, precious? Your pure soul has no place amongst this darkness. You may think you want the truth, but you will never be strong enough to bear the weight of this knowledge. You've been here before—only briefly. I recognize you, sunshine girl. I watch your every movement. And I patiently await your final return…" _

_The voice cut out and the gleaming red eyes disappeared. A bright blue drove out the darkness. The color of the sky. Then a deep green. The color of lush grass._

_And then another voice rang out. Louder, stronger. Feminine. Irish._

"_The child born twice, venturing too far yet again. You must not allow your Gift to lead you here uninhibited. You are stronger than you know. Your mind is capable of things you are not yet prepared for—you are the light, lass. You bear the glow of the sun as your ancestors before you, and you must not forget the power that courses through your veins. Aye, there is much and more for you to see. Even that which the darkest forces would like to hide from you. But now is not the time. Run home, sweet girl. Guard your soul, for there are enemies all around, and they thirst for the purity you possess. Many and more wish to see you fail, and fail you shall not. This journey has only just begun, wee Beth… Continue forward, and do not stop until you've uncovered the truth that lies dormant within your heart."_

Beth jolted awake, gasping for breath and shooting up from her pillow. She sat upright in her bed, blinking rapidly and looking around. Her hand was over her chest, grasping at her T-shirt and assuring herself that she was real. That she was present in the mortal plane.

She was in her bed. In her bedroom. Everything was dark, but there was a mixture of moonlight and security light leaking in through the curtains of her windows. She took several more deep breaths, still looking around and reassuring herself that she was awake.

Merle was nowhere to be found, but she quickly remembered their last conversation and reasoned that he probably wouldn't be back for several hours. She glanced over and saw the silhouette of the Djab Idol sitting atop her desk. She listened for the sounds of movement throughout the house, but there was only silence. Everyone was asleep. The clock on her nightstand read 3:34.

Her heart was still racing, thumping away beneath the thin cotton of her T-shirt. There was a cold sweat on her forehead and she wiped it away with the back of her hand.

The nightmare was stuck in her head, though. She knew it was nothing more than a dream, but it had felt so _real_. She'd never dreamt so vividly before. She'd never woken up in a cold sweat, gasping for breath and full of fear before. Not like this. She could still hear those voices echoing at the back of her mind.

_Was it_ just a dream? Or had she accidentally ventured somewhere further while sleeping? Was that how it worked? Did she have to worry about this stupid Gift even while she was unconscious?

It certainly seemed that way. Which was scary enough in itself.

She'd recognized Papa Legba's voice. And the woman… she'd sounded just like Morgan had when he claimed someone had spoken through him. Had the Witch of Youghal spoken directly to her again?

And now she had to wonder… who were those boys? They hadn't looked like anyone she recognized.

She rubbed her eyes and sighed, struggling to steady her breathing and heart rate. She wanted to lie down and fall asleep again, but she was afraid it would take her back to that place. And what if she couldn't find her way back this time? If that really had been Papa Legba speaking to her, then he was the _last_ being she wanted to communicate with, especially when she had no control over the communication. Had that actually been Florence Newton speaking to her? Warning her? _Saving_ her?

She reached over and grabbed her phone, lighting up the screen to find a new text message waiting for her. The timestamp read 11:37. She'd already retired for the night by that time, though now she was kind of wishing she'd stayed up a bit later.

The text was from Daryl: _If this is too much for you, just say the word. I'll understand. If you wanna go, you can go. I won't hold it against you. Merle isn't your problem. He's mine. I can deal with him even if I can't see him. My soul is probably fucked anyway. It's not your burden to bear. Just so you know._

Her stomach twisted and her chest ached as she read his message over and over. Her scarred wrist itched and she ran a finger across the raised flesh, reminding herself of the brief time when she'd thought that opting out was the only viable answer.

And even though it was nearly four in the morning, she felt that she needed to reply sooner rather than later. So she did.

_Your soul isn't fucked. I've never wanted something as bad as I want to keep you out of Hell. And even though Merle is a real dick, I wanna help him too. Don't go counting me out just yet, Dixon. I don't give up easily._

She hit Send and read back over her message. A few seconds later, she sent another:

_Wouldn't kill you to have a little faith._

Then she locked her phone and set it down on the nightstand. And after several deep breaths, she was lying back down and closing her eyes. She let sleep overtake her once more.

Luckily, she didn't dream at all this time.

* * *

When Beth awoke again, sunlight was filling her bedroom. The clock read 7:16, and there was a new text from Daryl waiting for her on her phone. It had arrived barely an hour ago.

_Not doubting you. Just don't want you getting in over your head. Faith isn't something I'm awful familiar with, Greene. But you seem pretty confident. And you're the one who can see the future. So I reckon I'll try._

She didn't realize she was smiling until she'd already set her phone aside and hopped out of bed. She didn't know how to respond to that text. But she didn't feel like a response was really necessary.

The sounds of her family walking around and talking downstairs reached Beth's bedroom, giving her more motivation to get up and going. She wondered where Merle was, but only for a second. She hoped he'd stay away until the memorial was over. She didn't need him adding to her emotional stress today.

After a quick shower, she fixed her hair and applied her makeup and put on the nice garment hanging in her closet that she'd bought last month for this exact occasion: a modest and flowy blue dress patterned with black orchids and accented with tiny red splotches in the shape of leaves, the hem stopping just below her knees. It left her arms and upper chest bare, so she put a thin, waist-length black cardigan over it. She slipped on a pair of simple black heels and snatched up her purse on the way out the door.

By the time she got downstairs, she found the rest of her family dressed and sipping coffee, most of them still occupied with finishing breakfast. Maggie quickly grabbed her attention and pulled her over to join Glenn.

And for a little while, everything felt normal again. Or as normal as it could be without their mom around. Beth forgot about her Gift and busied herself with formalities. They left the farmhouse and headed to the church in town, where they all pitched in and finished preparing for the memorial. The guests began to pour in, one group after another, and a few hours later, everyone was gathered around and reminiscing, catching up, sharing both laughter and tears.

Beth wasn't thinking about Merle or The Governor or the Swamp Witch or her Gift. She was, however, wondering what Daryl was doing. Anticipating his next text message. Listening for the familiar sound of a motorcycle from somewhere off in the distance.

She didn't know why. She just kinda wished he'd accepted the invitation to join them.

But they had bigger fish to fry. She could only hope that he was getting something done; tracking down some answers, following up on some leads with Rick. Or maybe even beginning to come to terms with all the underlying shit that went along with this whole ordeal.

Whatever he was doing, she hoped he was thinking about her, too. And not just because she could talk to his dead brother.

* * *

The memorial wasn't much different than it had ever been. Every year turned out about the same. Beth was okay with that. She appreciated the normalcy, enjoyed the sense of community and the everlasting love and respect that these people had for her late mother and her family in general. She liked all the tight hugs and big smiles she received from the people who'd watched her grow up. She especially appreciated how happy her dad seemed to be amongst the small crowd of people. Despite the fact that it was the anniversary of his wife's death, he was making the best of it.

He chose to take this opportunity to remember Annette for all of the best reasons, and to share his memories with others who had known and loved her. Beth had found it difficult to understand for the first couple of years, but nowadays, she got it. She understood. And she tried to enjoy it like her father did.

Though it was a challenge. Because Beth couldn't help but feel sad that her mama wasn't around anymore. That she couldn't see just how far Maggie, Shawn, and Beth had come. That she couldn't be here to tell them how proud she was of everything they'd done and the people they'd grown into.

But, Beth reckoned, it just wasn't meant to be. There was a reason for everything, right? That's what she had to keep telling herself.

She just needed to have a little faith. Like she'd told Daryl.

Regardless, she couldn't stop wondering… had her mother known? About the Greene Gift? Had she seen it in Beth as a small child? And if she were still around, would she be someone Beth could confide in and look to for guidance?

She'd never know now. No use in dwelling on the what if's. She would only end up hurting her own feelings.

* * *

Two long tables filled the gathering hall of the church, both of them lined with chairs that held several different families. The Greene's sat clustered together with Patricia and Otis and Jimmy's family. Jimmy had chosen the seat diagonal from Beth, and she could feel him repeatedly glancing at her. She tried to ignore it.

They'd had a brief and polite conversation earlier—Annette's memorial was the only time of the year Beth ever really saw Jimmy anymore. He'd been away at college and had plenty of stories to tell. Though Beth still felt a little awkward with him, like the conversations were always forced. It had been about three years since he last tried to convince her to date him again, but she got the sense that his feelings had never really faded.

She didn't know why; their high school relationship felt like a lifetime ago by now. She hadn't even been in a serious relationship since then. Since shortly after her little… _attempt_. Admittedly, she didn't have the time. Or the energy. She had a lot of responsibilities on the farm, and since her mom's passing, she hadn't been very interested in meeting new people. Jimmy just didn't seem to get it. He'd always had some stupid fairytale fantasy of them running away together and living happily ever after. But that's not what she wanted. She was happy here. Everyone she loved and cared about was here. Why would she leave?

She didn't check her phone until she'd sat down with a full plate of food. Maggie sat on one side of her while Shawn sat on the other, and they were both chatting away with the others seated around the table. The gathering hall was filled with chatter and laughter, the rustling of tablecloths and the squeak of metal chair legs on tile.

There was a new text from Daryl. The timestamp told her it had arrived about an hour ago.

_How's the memorial going?_

She typed back a response and hit Send: _Really good! Thanks for asking. How's your day so far? Any word from Rick yet?_

Then she shoved her phone under her leg and began digging into her lunch. Jimmy's mom leaned over and politely made conversation, asking what Beth had been up to, and was she seeing anyone these days? Thinking about college or a career? She wasn't planning on living at home with her dad forever, was she?

Beth forced a smile and tried not to lose her appetite.

* * *

It was close to 3 in the afternoon by the time everyone had finished eating and mingling. People were starting to say their goodbyes, exchanging more long hugs and well wishes, making sure to stop and shake Hershel's hand on their way out.

Maggie wandered outside with a family friend to walk them to their vehicle and Shawn was busy talking with a former high school classmate. Beth stepped off to the side and checked her phone, but there were no new messages waiting for her. At first, she was disappointed. But then she started to feel nervous—was Daryl with Rick right now? Were they talking to the car rental people? Maybe they were in Atlanta already and Daryl was too busy to text back.

"Hey."

A familiar voice broke through her thoughts and she quickly shoved her phone back into her purse, looking up to find Jimmy standing before her. His hands were in the pockets of his black slacks and he was smiling shyly. He almost looked nervous to be approaching her.

Beth gave him a warm smile, though she tensed up a bit. "What's up?"

Jimmy shifted his weight from one foot the other, clearing his throat and glancing over his shoulder. His mom was on the other side of the room, happily chatting with Patricia. He met Beth's eyes and lowered his voice. "Um, sorry about my mom. You know how she can be…"

Beth relaxed, shrugging. "Yeah, I know how she can be. Don't worry about it."

He smiled easier and said, "You look really nice today. It was good to see you an' catch up a bit."

"Thanks, Jimmy." She glanced away awkwardly, pretending to check on her dad from afar. "It's good ta see you're doin' well. I'm glad you could make it today."

He nodded, then his smile slowly faded. "Beth, I—I met somebody. And I haven't told my mom yet, 'cause it's still real new, but… I don't want you feelin' uncomfortable around me. I'd like us ta be friends. Ya know, we had a lotta good memories together. Even if it didn't work out. It took me longer than it should've, but I got over you. I'll always care about you, but all that other stuff is in the past. So…"

Beth froze and stared back at Jimmy with surprise. "Oh." Relief rushed through her. "Wow. Okay, well… I really appreciate that. And I'm happy to hear it. That you met somebody. I bet she's a really good girl."

His smile returned. "She is. Maybe I'll bring her along next year."

"That'd be nice." She hesitated, then she told him, "I'm sorry if I was a jerk to you, Jimmy. At any point over the last seven years. I did love you, and I still care about you, too. I just… think we wanted different things outta life. And I was goin' through a tough time for a while. That's not an excuse, but—"

Jimmy chuckled and put up his hand to stop her. "Don't apologize to me. I understand. I always have. I was just, I'ono. In denial or somethin'. Took me longer to come to terms with it, but I think that's 'cause it took me longer to grow up. You were always more mature than me. Way smarter, too."

Beth laughed at that, shaking her head. "Don't say that, it's not true. _You're_ the one with a college degree. I barely finished high school."

She'd meant it as a joke, but his smile quickly disappeared and he furrowed his brow. "That's not how it works, Beth. Don't think that about yerself—my mom's full of shit. We both know that. You're one of the smartest people I've ever met, and you still are. But in a _different_ way; you know what you want outta life. And it's not the same cookie-cutter bullshit that everybody else wants. There's nothin' wrong with wantin' to stay close to your family, or not knowin' what you wanna do for the rest of your life by the time yer twenty-four. Our lives are only just gettin' started. We're young. Who _knows_ where we'll be in ten years. As long as we're happy. Right?"

Damn, Beth had not been prepared for that kind of depth and empathy from Jimmy. She had to fight back a wave of tears that threatened to pool in her eyes.

She swallowed hard and nodded. "Yeah. You're right."

He shrugged, smiling again. "So I just hope we can remain friends, and I really hope you can find whatever it is that's gonna make you happy."

She returned his smile, bright and genuine. "Thank you, Jimmy. That's… really, really sweet of you. I hope the same for you."

Then he took a step closer and leaned in just a bit, his voice lowered as though he were telling a secret, and added, "I gotta admit—you look happier today than any of the other times I saw you over the last few years."

Beth blinked, letting out a soft laugh. "I do?"

He nodded. "Ya sure do."

She felt herself blushing, though she made no effort to hide it. She glanced away bashfully and muttered, "Well… I _feel_ happy. I think."

Rather, she felt like she had a _purpose_. A destination that she actually wanted to reach. But that was pretty much the same thing, as far as she was concerned.

"You _think_?" Jimmy teased.

"I don't wanna go jinxin' things just yet," she joked.

Maggie's voice caught Beth's attention from across the room. "Beth!"

She turned and searched around for a second before she spotted her older sister weaving through the clustered groups of people and making a beeline straight for her. And Maggie was grinning. _Why_ was she grinning?

"I'll see ya around, alrigh'?" Jimmy reached out and gave Beth's arm a soft pat.

Beth nodded and said goodbye, and he walked away just as Maggie approached.

"What is it?" Beth asked, growing more worried by the second when she saw the mischievous sparkle in Maggie's green eyes.

But Maggie just grabbed her by the wrist and urged her towards the door. "C'mon, come look."

"At what?" Beth asked, though she was already being led through the crowd and outside.

As soon as they were out the door and standing on the front steps of the church, Maggie stopped and raised a hand, pointing to something off to the left. Beth's eyes followed her finger, across the grass lawn and the small parking lot. To the street.

"I think _somebody's_ waitin' for you," Maggie said.

And there, leaning against his parked bike and smoking a cigarette, was Daryl Dixon.

Beth's mouth curled up into a wide smile. Her heart leapt.

He did, in fact, appear to be waiting for her.

**to be continued… **


	38. Tell Me 'Bout Your Dreams

**Tell Me 'Bout Your Dreams**

Beth crossed the grass and the parking lot, smiling the whole way as she locked eyes with Daryl. He stood up and away from his bike, tossing his cigarette to the ground.

As she approached, he asked, "Sorry I didn't text back—reckoned I'd talk to ya in person. Did I miss lunch?"

She stopped, leaving an arm's length of distance between them. "I thought you didn't wanna come."

He shrugged, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "Well, I called outta work an' Rick ain't gonna be free fer another hour. So I figured I'd stop by. Didn't know how late y'all were gonna be goin'."

"I woulda saved you a plate," she said, still smiling. "But we finished a little while ago, so there's not much left. I gotta help clean up. Did Rick get a hold of that rental car place?"

Daryl nodded. "Yup. He was right—they wouldn't give that kinda information over the phone. We're gonna drive up there an' see if he can talk 'em into it."

"In an hour?"

"Yeah. You wanna come with?"

"Of course I do."

"Alright. Merle been leavin' ya alone today?"

Beth's smile faltered at the mention of the dead Dixon. "Surprisingly. I kinda chewed him out last night when he told me the truth about the money. He got pissy an' disappeared. I haven't seen him since."

Daryl grunted. "Maybe ya actually got through an' made him feel bad."

She laughed. "I might be able to talk to ghosts, but I'm not a _miracle_ worker."

He smirked, chuckling softly.

"So did Rick call the insurance place, too?" She asked.

"Yeah. He talked ta somebody, but I'ono if it was who he wanted. Guess they said we can stop by before they close tomorrow," he explained.

"Okay, good," she said. Then she paused before adding, "I think we're bound ta get some answers between both places. What d'you think?"

He shrugged. "Just hopin' yer right. An' that Merle won't have no more stupid surprises for us."

She huffed out a breath. "Yeah. Me, too."

"So y'all need help cleanin' up?" Daryl offered. He quickly explained, "Might save some time if ya got an extra pair of hands. Figured you'd wanna stop at home an' change before we meet Rick."

Beth glanced back over her shoulder to see that Maggie was still standing on the steps of the church, watching from afar. She turned back and looked up at Daryl with a smile. "If you don't mind my family makin' small talk, sure."

He grunted and flashed her a half-smile. "Nah, I don't mind."

* * *

Beth led the way back to the front of the church, where Maggie was still waiting on the steps, saying goodbye to people as they slowly filtered out the door.

"Hey, Daryl," she greeted with a beaming smile. "It's good to see ya."

Daryl stayed a couple steps behind Beth, nodding at the brunette. "Good t'see you, too."

"He offered to help us clean up," Beth said, slowly climbing the steps.

Maggie's eyebrows rose in surprise, but she only appeared more excited. "How thoughtful. Y'all got somewhere to be after this?"

Beth smiled, rolling her eyes at her sister's suggestive tone. "Yeah, we're meetin' up with Rick again. We have ta go talk to some people."

"Unless y'all have other plans," Daryl interjected, looking to Maggie with a hint of uncertainty.

Maggie laughed and shook her head. "Don't worry about it." Then she opened up the door and held it, gesturing for them to step inside. "C'mon, let's get started. More hands makes for less work."

A few minutes later, the last of the guests had left and the Greene family—plus Glenn and Daryl—were scattered around the gathering hall, collecting empty paper plates and aluminum pans, filling up trash bags with scraps of half-eaten food and plastic utensils. Hershel made his way over to Beth and Daryl, surprising them as they quietly worked to clean off a table.

"Nice to see you, Daryl," he greeted, smiling warmly and holding out his hand.

Daryl quickly turned to face the Greene patriarch and shook his hand. "You, too. Sorry I missed the event."

"No apology necessary," Hershel beamed. "We're always happy to have some extra help. I assume you two have plans for the rest of the day?" He glanced at Beth and winked, but she quickly looked away, blushing and rolling her eyes.

Daryl shifted his weight uncomfortably. "Yeah—if that's alright with you."

Hershel chuckled. "You're both adults. You don't need _my_ permission." Though he flashed Daryl a stern look and added, "As long as you're keepin' my daughter safe and outta trouble, that is."

"'Course—I mean, absolutely," Daryl quickly replied, his voice cracking. He cleared his throat.

Beth wanted to melt into the floor right now. She could only imagine how Daryl was feeling.

"Y'know," Hershel said, raising his bushy eyebrows and returning to his soft-toned demeanor, yet remaining intimidating all the same. "You'd be welcome to join us anytime you like. Maybe this Sunday? For church?"

Daryl cleared his throat again, stroking his chin hair with one hand. "Um, maybe. I'll have to think about it. I appreciate the invitation."

Hershel nodded, smiling warmly. "Of course. It's an open invitation, no pressure." Then he turned his attention on Beth. "Should we set a place for you two at dinner tonight?"

She desperately hoped her face wasn't as bright red as it felt. "No, Daddy, I don't think Daryl's gonna be joining us fer dinner anytime soon. I'm not sure if I'll be home in time tonight. Maybe just have Maggie save me a plate."

He shrugged. "Alright, Doodlebug. I s'pose we'd best finish up here so you can run off to your next adventure." He gave her a teasing smile.

She laughed softly, but all she could think was, _If you only knew._

* * *

Once the church was cleaned up and everything that the Greene's had brought was packed back into their trucks and cars, everyone began to part ways and head for home. Beth was riding with Maggie and Glenn, but Maggie was doing one last sweep of the church to make sure they didn't forget anything.

So Beth stood by the street with Daryl and his parked motorcycle while she waited.

"Sorry about my dad," she said, a crooked smile on her face as she gazed up at him. "He tries ta get everybody to come to church."

He shrugged. "Don't be sorry. He's just bein' polite. Can't say I've been to church in a while. Maybe it'd be worth a shot."

Beth raised her eyebrows in surprise. "Really?"

Daryl furrowed his brow. "Well, my brother sold my soul to a demon, so I reckon gettin' back on God's good side wouldn't be such a bad idea."

She tensed, but then he cracked a smile and she realized he was only partially serious. She chuckled and reached out to give him a playful smack on the arm. He laughed.

"C'mon now," he teased. "Can't tell me I don't got a point."

Beth rolled her eyes and gave him a playful look. Then she asked, "So you wanna follow us back to my house? Won't take me long to change, then we can go meet up with Rick."

Daryl's smile faded and he nodded, returning to a more solemn tone. "Yeah, 's what I planned on. He said we could ride with him into the city. I'll just park my bike at the Sheriff's Department."

"Sounds good." She paused, glancing back over her shoulder to see if Maggie had emerged from inside the church yet. She hadn't, so Beth looked up at Daryl and took a half-step closer, lowering her voice. "Um… I had a pretty _weird_ dream last night."

He stared back at her with slight confusion, frowning. "A dream?"

"Yeah. But it didn't _feel_ like a dream," she explained. "It was more like… another vision. But I wasn't expecting it, and I couldn't make sense of it."

He grunted, clearly intrigued. "What'd ya see? Can you remember it?"

She quickly nodded. "I can. But I didn't recognize the kids I saw, and right after they—"

"_Kids_?" He interrupted. "What kids?"

"Just two boys. I dunno. I think they were brothers. One was blonde, maybe like twelve years old at the most. He had a black eye. The other one had dark hair and looked like a teenager. But it was… really _weird_."

"Weird how?" Daryl's eyes narrowed, studying Beth's face, and the crease in his brow grew more prominent as he listened.

She hesitated for a second, trying to figure out how she could explain it so that he could try and picture what she'd seen. "Well, they… um, they were two boys, but they were also _four_ boys. It was like two pairs of brothers with the same age difference between them, standing in the same spots an' sayin' the same things, but they kept flickering and changing back an' forth."

His lips were pressed tightly together and he was still staring at her, though he made no attempt to speak. He seemed to be following, so she went on.

"The younger one was beggin' the older one not to leave. Somethin' about being left behind with somebody. And the older one just told him that he had to stay behind an' take care of their mom." She paused and took a deep breath before she added, "And then they disappeared, and I heard Papa Legba talking _to_ _me_."

Daryl's eyes widened. "Shit—for real?"

Beth nodded, frowning.

"What'd he say?"

She felt a chill run up her spine at the mere memory of Legba's voice in her head. "That I was visiting places I shouldn't visit. That he's waiting for me to return… But then I heard _another_ voice. I didn't see her, but I _know_ who it was: the Irish Witch that talked to me through Morgan, the one Maggie met when she was a kid. And she warned me that I need to be careful, because I'm more powerful than I realize and my Gift might take me somewhere that's too dangerous for me to be."

"Well, fuck," Daryl huffed out a breath of disbelief. "You sure it wasn't just a dream?"

She raised her eyebrows and looked up at him with determination. "I'm _positive_."

He grunted, shoving his hands deep into his jeans pockets and mulling over her words. Dread flickered across his face for the briefest moment, then he was worrying his lower lip and glancing away to stare down at the ground.

"I think it's a _good_ sign," she said after a few long seconds of silence.

His eyes flicked back up to meet hers. "Why's that?"

"Because." She offered a weak smile. "Papa Legba sounded angry. And I saw one of his Hellhounds when I had that vision in the evidence room, and it was pissed. I could tell… So if he's gettin' mad, that could really only mean one thing."

Daryl perked up. "That we're gettin' closer'an he wants us to be."

Beth's smile turned into a grin and she nodded eagerly. "_Exactly_."

But then his face fell once more and he was glancing away awkwardly, chewing on the inside of his cheek and shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "I, uh… I had a dream last night, too."

She was caught off-guard, her grin fading as she studied his expression and tried to interpret it. "Oh?"

He gave a curt nod, clearing his throat and keeping his gaze averted downward. "'S prob'ly nothin', 's just… I ain't had a dream that I could remember _this_ clearly in twenty damn years."

She ignored the tingle of dread that was spawning within her gut and gently asked, "What happened in your dream?"

He shifted, gone quiet for a second while he tried to find the words to describe it. He still wouldn't meet her eyes as his voice came out low and hoarse, describing what he could recall, "I was on a rowboat out in the middle of the ocean. No paddles, so I couldn't even try ta control which way I floated. I couldn't see land anywhere an' it was all dark—the water, the sky, everything. I couldn't see any stars ta figure out which direction I was goin'. And when I looked down at my feet, I realized the boat was full of broken glass. Like somebody had smashed a hundred beer bottles an' left all the shards in one place. It was cuttin' into my feet and legs, I had some pieces stuck in my hands. I kept hearin' Merle's voice call out to me, but no matter how hard I looked, I couldn't find him. Then I saw a light, but it looked far away. I tried to steer towards it, but every time I stuck my hands in the water, it felt like the glass was cuttin' deeper into my skin. I finally got close enough to see it was a lighthouse, but it was real dim. Kept flickering in an' out. And everytime I started floating closer, the tide would push me back. I got frustrated an' jumped overboard. Figured I'd just swim the rest of the way. But then the water got real choppy, I couldn't keep my head above the surface. I just kept kickin', try'na keep my eyes on the lighthouse. Then I felt somethin' grab my leg—like a strong hand or a claw or somethin'—and it pulled me under. I woke up an' I couldn't breathe fer a few seconds… I was so damn sweaty, I thought fer a second that I really _had_ gone swimmin'."

Beth stared at him with wide eyes, stunned. She blinked, watching as he slowly met her gaze with trepidation.

"I know," he grumbled. "It don't make no fuckin' sense. Just kinda spooked me, I guess."

"No," she said. "It _does_ make sense."

_Way too much sense, _she thought. _Florence, are you showing Daryl things now, too? Can you hear me? What are you trying to tell us?_

Daryl furrowed his brow. "It does? How?"

She opened her mouth to try and explain, but she was cut off by the sound of Maggie's voice calling out from behind her. "Beth, are you ready?! Let's go!"

Beth turned to give Maggie a wave, signaling that she'd be there in just a second. Then she turned back and flashed Daryl an apologetic look.

"I'll tell you later," she said. "Maggie's not very patient. I'll see you at the house, okay?"

Daryl nodded in agreement and she stepped back, turning to walk away.

But she only got a few feet away when she heard him call out behind her, "Hey, Beth—"

She stopped and glanced back to see that he hadn't moved towards his bike yet, hands still resting snug inside his pockets.

"You, uh—I like yer dress. Looks real pretty on ya."

She couldn't stop the huge grin that spread across her face. Or the flush of pink that bloomed in her cheeks.

"Thanks, Daryl," she said, flashing him a bright smile from over her shoulder.

She felt like she was walking on air as she hurried over to Maggie and Glenn's car. And before she hopped into the backseat, she stole one more glance of Daryl as he revved up his bike and took off down the street.

She couldn't even _try_ to tell herself that the fluttering in her stomach was due to hunger this time.

Crap.

* * *

Daryl was already parked in the long driveway by the time Hershel, Shawn, Maggie, Glenn, and Beth pulled up to the farmhouse. He told Beth he'd wait there for her while she ran inside and changed. Maggie and Glenn assured her that they could handle the rest of the unpacking and cleaning up, so she rushed into the house and up to her bedroom.

She tossed her purse aside and hurriedly changed into a pair of jeans and a long-sleeve tee, slipping on a pair of comfortable boots. Then she stopped at the mirror—the new one her dad had brought up from the basement to replace the mirror Merle had broken days ago—and checked her makeup, touching it up a bit.

As she stood by the door, double-checking that she had everything she might need in her little over-the-shoulder purse and preparing to leave, she felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. She turned around, dreading what she knew she would find.

Sure enough: Merle was back.

"No longer announcing yourself?" Beth asked, her voice tinged with annoyance at the mere sight of him. "Or are you tryin' to give me a heart attack now?"

He scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Obviously I don't _have_ to announce myself. You'da figured out I was here sooner or later."

"And what's it gonna take ta run you off _this_ time?" She asked. "If we find somethin' else out and need your help, are you gonna disappear again?"

He scowled. "Maybe. Not like I won't come back. Y'all seem ta have this shitshow under control without my help so far. The hell am I gonna do, anyhow? Still can't remember bein' killed. Can't do much of anything—ya know, bein' fuckin' _dead_ an' all."

Beth quirked a brow. "You can _haunt_ people. Rick showed us the camera footage of what you did at the Sheriff's Department yesterday, ya know. He was almost convinced Shane was crazy till I explained the situation."

Merle smiled proudly, puffing his chest out a bit and chuckling. "Well shit, I was just havin' some fun. Takin' out a little pent-up anger. Lord knows Deputy Dickhead deserved every bit of it."

She shrugged. "I won't argue with that. But you missed a lotta real pertinent information whenever you flaked out."

"_Psh_." Merle was frowning again, sucking on his teeth and narrowing his eyes at Beth. "Where the hell d'you think I _go_ when I ain't hangin' around you?"

She paused, taken aback. She answered uncertainly, "I dunno—off ta be by yourself? Or to go haunt somebody else for a little bit?"

He barked out a laugh and smirked. "Shit. You really think I'm some kinda simple-minded fuckin' retarded redneck, don'tcha?"

She pursed her lips and gave him a look that said, _You really want me to answer that?_

He sneered and rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. "Christ, blondie. An' here I was startin' ta think you might not be such an airheaded bimbo after all."

"Oh, screw you," she snapped. "Where _else_ would you go? A strip club? Since you can finally get in for free?"

"No, dumbass," he said. "If I ain't with you, then I'm with my _brother_."

Beth furrowed her brow, surprised and a little confused. "And what about when Daryl is with me?"

He shrugged. "Well, _sometimes_ I go off by myself. But only 'cause I'm tryin' ta figure out where the fuck this Governor prick might be hidin'. Daryl was up pretty late last night, though. Talkin' to that bitch he lives with." He smirked knowingly and waved a hand through the air. "I know all about what y'all found out—how my shenanigans actually helped y'all ta get Rick on our side. How you fainted in the evidence room an' caught a license plate in one a them li'l visions. Hell, yer name came up more times'an I could even _count_, blondie."

She blurted out, "He told his roommate about it? About everything?"

Merle's smirk curled into a devilish smile. "Oh yeah. Every last bit. I'll bet she's writin' it all down in her diary as we speak." He laughed crudely.

Beth felt a twinge of anger. Frustration. Bewilderment that Daryl would spill this secret to his roommate, yet turn around and admonish Beth for confiding in Maggie.

But surely, he had his reasons. Maybe his roommate was the only person he felt he could really trust. Could she blame him for needing a third party to vent to? Or an outsider's perspective? Nonetheless, he was still a hypocrite for getting so upset with her for talking to her sister while he was sharing every gruesome detail with a woman that Beth had yet to even meet.

"Whatever," she quickly said, trying to sound as indifferent as possible. "It doesn't matter. He's waitin' downstairs, I have to go. We're gonna meet up with Rick and try to find out The Governor's real name."

"Yeah, I know," Merle said. "Why you think I showed back up? Ain't here to fuckin' _gossip_. Let's get a move on, princess."

She held back a snippy retort and turned on her heel, leaving the bedroom. And she didn't have to look back to know that Merle was following her.

* * *

Daryl tossed out his burnt-down cigarette as soon as Beth descended the steps of the back porch and approached his bike.

"He's back," she declared.

Merle laughed from behind her while Daryl handed over the helmet and she took it.

"_Huh_," he grunted. "'Bout damn time. He gonna fuck off again once we actually need 'im?"

Merle's laughter stopped abruptly and he spat, "Fuck you, Darylina!"

Beth smirked as she slipped on the helmet and hoisted herself onto the bike. "Let's hope not." She sat down behind Daryl and wrapped her arms around his middle.

"I won't go holdin' my breath," he muttered.

Then he started up the motorcycle, and the loud rumble of the engine drowned out any other smartass remarks from the dead Dixon.

Seconds later, Daryl and Beth were speeding away down the dirt road in the direction of the Sheriff's Department. But Beth's mind was racing even faster.

What if they couldn't get the answers they needed from this rental car place? That simply wasn't an option. They _had_ to get an answer. Because deep down, Beth had a feeling that time was beginning to run short.

Papa Legba was getting agitated. His Hellhounds were growing restless. The Governor was out there somewhere, lurking around, waiting for an opportunity to strike at Daryl.

And she still didn't know if Merle was telling the _whole_ truth.

**to be continued… **


	39. Cold Open From the Backseat of a Sheriff

**Cold Open From the Backseat of a Sheriff's Car**

When Daryl and Beth parked outside of the Sheriff's Department, Rick was nowhere to be seen. Daryl silenced the bike and put down the kickstand, and while Beth took off her helmet and climbed off, he pulled out his phone and sent a text to Rick.

"Are we early?" She asked, setting the helmet atop her empty seat and running a hand through her hair.

He was still staring down at the phone in his hand, both feet planted on either side of the motorcycle. "Nah. Few minutes late. But he's pro'lly still caught up with paperwork or somethin'. I just texted him."

Beth glanced around at the quiet parking lot, expecting Merle to appear any second. She kept looking over her shoulder, wondering if he was trying to take her by surprise again.

"You gonna tell me how that dream made sense?"

Daryl's deep voice shook her from her observations. She looked at him quizzically for a second before she recalled what he was referring to.

Oh yeah. His dream. Florence Newton's predictions.

It _did_ make sense, but how could she explain it so it made sense to _him_? Sure, it had been a pretty wild ride so far, and he'd learned to accept plenty of things that he'd normally brush off as nonsense. But her sister talking to a 400-year-old Witch who foretold their futures might be a _bit_ of a stretch. Even for this situation.

"Um," Beth started, her mouth quirking to the side as she contemplated how to word it. "Well, it's just—interpretation, I guess. You remember how I told you that Maggie met a Witch, too?"

A crease formed in Daryl's brow and he stared back at her from where he still sat on the bike. "Yeah, what's the deal with that anyhow? I mean, I never asked, but when you was givin' Rick that rundown on everything, ya mentioned somethin' about Maggie meetin' an immortal Witch…? From Ireland? And she—predicted the future or sum'n? What's _that_ all about?"

"That's pretty much it," Beth said with a half-shrug. "When she was like, eleven years old, she talked to a lady who called herself the Witch of Youghal. Her name is actually Florence Newton. She's a real lady who lived in Ireland in the 1600s and got persecuted in the Witch Trials—there's a Wikipedia article about her an' everything. She knew one of our ancestors who had a Gift. And she told Maggie a bunch of vague stuff about the future that didn't make any sense. Till now. I think she… well, me and Maggie _both_ think that Florence predicted Merle coming to me for help. How you an' I would meet. How y'all would need my Gift."

Daryl didn't appear nearly as perplexed as she'd expected. Then again, she figured, he _had_ to be getting used to this kind of stuff by now. Maybe an immortal Witch from Ireland wasn't the hardest part to swallow, after all.

He _hmph_ed thoughtfully, taking a moment to mull over her words in silence. Then he nodded and asked, "So, my dream… did it match up with what that Witch said? Or what?"

"Pretty much," Beth replied softly.

She didn't want to go into detail right now. Like the fact that Florence predicted how Maggie would meet Glenn and it came true. Or the fact that everything was matching up in a way that led Beth to believe she really _was_ supposed to be some kind of "light" in Daryl's life.

She didn't want him to start thinking they were supposed to be _soulmates_ or something. Or that _she_ was thinking they were supposed to be soulmates. That would just be silly. And completely off-topic and quite frankly, the absolute least of their worries.

But mostly… she didn't want to say anything that might make him shut down, or grow self-conscious and push her away. With every new revelation they discovered, every slightly traumatic moment they shared together, she could see his wall coming down. Brick by brick, inch by inch. He was becoming just a little less standoffish each day. She was pretty sure he was starting to legitimately _trust_ her. So she didn't want to risk it and make him think she was after some kind of fairytale ending. Or that she was after _anything_ for herself.

She just wanted to help Merle cross over and save Daryl's soul from eternity in Hell. And maybe understand her Gift and learn to control it better. That was all. Nothing more.

Hell, they didn't even have to be _friends_ after this if he didn't want to be. Which she would completely understand if he didn't.

Though she was kind of hoping he _would_ want to be friends. He was a nice guy. A _good_ guy. Despite their vast differences, they were finding new things in common with one another every day. He listened to her. She felt safe whenever she was around him. And Lord knew she hadn't made a new friend in way too damn long.

"Y'gonna tell me what she predicted?" Daryl asked, looking at her expectantly.

Beth hesitated. "Well—like I said, it's mostly interpretation. So…"

Just then, his eyes flicked up and away from hers, gazing over her shoulder. She turned around to see Rick emerging from the building, waving as soon as he spotted them.

She said a silent prayer of thanks that she'd been rescued from trying to repeat Florence Newton's predictions and waved back at Sheriff Grimes. He stopped next to the police cruiser that was parked in front of the building and gestured for them to walk over.

"C'mon, y'all! Let's hit the road!" He hollered out across the parking lot.

Daryl hopped off his bike and pocketed his keys. Then he walked side-by-side with Beth to the beige-colored car that read _King County Sheriff_ on the side.

Once they were approaching the rear of the vehicle, Rick opened the driver's side door and smiled at them. Beth thought he almost looked excited. Which he probably was. She reckoned this might be the most interesting thing to happen to him all week.

Daryl appeared a bit confused. "We takin' this to Atlanta?"

"Why not?" Rick said, slapping the hood and grinning. "Gets good mileage, an' these lights'll come in handy if we get stuck in traffic. I _am_ technically on duty."

Daryl smirked, grunting in amusement. "Alrigh'. 'F you say so." He glanced at Beth and said, "But I ain't sittin' in the back this time."

Beth laughed and opened the rear passenger side door. "That's fine, I'll take it. I've never been in the back of a police car before. This'll be fun!"

Daryl rolled his eyes, still smirking, and opened up the front passenger door to climb in.

All three doors slammed shut, seatbelts clicking while Rick started up the engine. Then Merle's voice filled her ears.

"'S a lot more _fun_ when yer in cuffs. You should try it sometime, blondie. Makes fer a good challenge!" He cackled loudly.

She whipped her head to the side and found him sitting on the other side of the backseat, grinning and getting comfortable.

"Oh, great," she muttered.

She hadn't meant to be loud enough to get Rick and Daryl's attention, but they heard her and turned around to look at her from the front seat.

"What is it?" Rick asked. "If it's the bloodstain, don't worry—that's been there fer years, it won't come out. But if it's more dried vomit, I can't say—"

"Ew!" Beth interrupted.

Merle guffawed.

"No, it's—Merle is here." She looked pointedly at Daryl and realization crossed his face.

He frowned before turning back around to stare out the windshield. "Good. Maybe he can pitch in an' fuckin' help fer once."

Merle scoffed. "Oh, I _planned_ on it, baby brother."

Rick was looking back, eyes darting from Beth to the empty seat beside her. "He's here? Right now? Like, he's comin' with us?"

Beth nodded bashfully.

Then Rick shrugged and turned back around to grip the steering wheel and shift into Reverse. "Alright then. But hopefully we won't _need_ his help."

"Yeah," Daryl grunted. "_Hopefully_."

Merle jabbed a thumb in Rick's direction and muttered, "He ain't even gonna say hi when he knows I'm here? Rude asshole. Just 'cause I'm dead don't mean I'm nonexistent."

_Don't I know it,_ Beth thought.

* * *

Atlanta was less than an hour's drive from the Sheriff's Department, but Rick drove a little faster than the speed limit once they were on the highway, and Beth knew they'd be getting there in about forty-five minutes.

In the center of the front seat, taking up the entire middle area between the driver's seat and the passenger's seat, as well as most of the dashboard, was a laptop, a radio scanner, more buttons than Beth could count, a speed scanner, a civilian radio, and a police scanner. A dispatcher's voice came in over the crackle of static every few seconds. Rick turned it down until it was barely audible, though the sound of static filled the car intermittently. She also spotted a first aid kit, a small array of cameras and recording devices, and a defibrillator. The sheriff's car seemed to be stocked with everything Rick might possibly need out on the road. There was a thick plate of glass that separated the front seat from the backseat, but he'd left the center panel slid open.

Daryl sat in the passenger seat and gazed out the window, silent and thoughtful, much like he'd been during the drive to Florida and back. Merle sucked his teeth loudly from where he sat an arm's reach away from Beth, his legs stretched out. He couldn't seem to decide whether he wanted to gaze out the window or glare a hole through the back of Rick's head. Either way, Beth could sense his discomfort. She wasn't sure if it was from being in the backseat of a police vehicle again, or if he was nervous as to what they might (or might not) find out from the car rental place.

She was nervous, too. What if they simply couldn't get the answer they were so desperately hoping for? Would they have to rely on whatever surfaced from looking into the insurance company and hope it ended up being enough to lead them to The Governor's true identity? How could her Gift help them here?

"So how was the memorial today, Beth?" Rick asked, glancing back at her over his shoulder with a soft smile.

She was grateful to talk about something normal for once. "Oh, it was nice," she replied. "I think almost everybody was able to make it out this year. Even Jimmy came."

"How's he doin'? Is he still in college?" The sheriff perked up at the sound of a familiar name. "I don't think I've talked to his mama since Christmas."

Beth smiled. "No, he graduated in June. I think he's just stayin' with his mom till he finds a job in the city or somethin'."

"Huh, graduated already?" Rick mused. "Damn, time sure flies."

Beth hummed in agreement.

She could certainly relate to that sentiment. Here she was, in pretty much the exact same place she'd been when she and Jimmy had graduated high school. Meanwhile, he'd already moved away for a few years, gotten a college degree, and met a new girl. And time just kept doing what time does.

Well, she wasn't in the _exact_ same place. But it certainly didn't look like her situation would be changing anytime soon. It wasn't like she could make a career out of seeing dead people. Nor did she think she'd be any better off once she'd gotten rid of Merle and saved Daryl's soul from Hell. In fact, she reckoned she'd most likely go right back to life as usual once this was all over.

She could see Merle squirming around in his seat from the corner of her eye and she looked over to see what he was doing. With a bored and slightly disgruntled expression on his face, he dug around in his pocket and pulled out his trusty lighter and pack of smokes. She rolled her eyes as he proceeded to put a cigarette between his lips and light it up.

"Can you roll these windows down, please?" She asked Rick.

He shot her a quizzical look over his shoulder and said, "They only roll halfway down. You gettin' hot back there? Want me to turn the air on?"

"No. Merle's smoking," she explained. "It's gonna reek in here pretty soon unless you roll a window down."

Rick looked back at her, clearly perplexed. "He's _smoking_?" Then he glanced over at Daryl with the same expression.

Daryl merely shrugged and muttered, "Don't ask _me_."

Merle scoffed and took a deep drag from his cigarette. He exhaled a cloud of smoke and remarked, "The hell else'm I supposed ta do? It's boring as shit in here. Can't y'all at least talk about somethin' _interesting_?"

Beth sighed and attempted to ignore him, speaking to Rick once more: "So what's the plan once we get to this place?"

"Plan?" Rick repeated, keeping his gaze on the road ahead. "Just business as usual, I suppose. Figured I'd talk to 'em, flash my badge, make up some kinda official-sounding reason to take a peek at their database. Shouldn't be too difficult."

"Should we all go in?" Beth asked. "Or…"

"Nah," he said. "Might seem odd if I'm with a couple civilians."

Then Daryl piped up, looking over at Rick with doubt. "An' if they refuse to tell ya anything? Then what?"

"Yeah," Merle agreed, even though Beth was the only one who could hear him. "_Then_ what? Can't be gettin' all cocky just yet, Officer Friendly."

Rick shrugged, frowning. "Then we'll cross that bridge when we get to it. I'll think a somethin'. But I got a feelin' it won't come to that. Places like this are always eager to comply with law enforcement, 'specially if they think it might be some big, secret case that could bring 'em some publicity once it gets solved. Everybody wants to be a hero, ya know."

Merle clucked his tongue and shook his head as he exhaled another cloud of smoke. "Best hope yer right, Grimes. 'Cause _that_ attitude ain't gonna get us far at all."

Beth shot him a glaring side-eye, resisting the urge to scold him aloud. He just laughed and waved her off.

Then Rick coughed and pressed a button on his door to roll down the driver's side window and the back window simultaneously. "Damn," he remarked. "You weren't kiddin', Beth—I can literally _smell_ the cigarette smoke." He looked over at Daryl and back at Beth, double-checking that neither of them were the culprits.

She flashed him a crooked smile and a shrug that said, _Told you._

"Wouldn't kid about that," Daryl grumbled.

Rick opened his mouth to say something else, but he was quickly interrupted by the sound of music filling the car. The civilian radio had suddenly turned on and it was blaring a punk rock station, startling all three of them.

"_Robbin' people with a six-gun—I fought the law and the law won! I fought the law and the law won!"_

Merle threw his head back, laughing while Rick reached over and fumbled to crank down the volume.

"What the hell was that?!" Rick exclaimed, looking to Beth and Daryl with wide eyes.

"Merle," Beth replied simply.

"He jus' turns radios on randomly like that?" Rick asked, completely baffled. "Well I'll be damned…"

Daryl simply grunted, and Beth nodded in affirmation. He glanced back at her over his shoulder and they exchanged a look of annoyance through the glass that separated them.

Merle huffed out an agitated sigh. "I'm tryin' ta be _supportive_!"

She rolled her eyes and muttered just loud enough for him to hear: "Try harder."

* * *

For the rest of the drive to Atlanta, Rick kept glancing at the rearview mirror, and Beth knew he was trying to see if he could catch a glimpse of Merle or his mysterious ghost cigarettes. The sheriff also asked questions pertaining to Merle's abilities. Beth didn't want to give the dead Dixon too much credit, especially when he was sitting right next to her and grinning so smugly while they talked about him. But she also didn't want to downplay what he could do, even as a ghost. The footage from the Sheriff's Department had given Rick a pretty good idea, though he still had endless questions. After a while, Beth had to admit that she didn't know quite as much as she probably should. Rick was satisfied all the same, and _very_ intrigued.

When they entered the city, he turned on his GPS and followed its directions to the address of the car rental business. Merle was on his fifth or sixth cigarette and all the windows were rolled down by this point, though Daryl was taking advantage of the open air and having a smoke of his own. Beth sat silently in the backseat and gazed around at the buildings and sidewalks as they passed, trying to remember the last time she'd come to Atlanta.

Maybe six months ago? For a very brief visit with Maggie? She wasn't even sure. Everything before the last week was beginning to feel like a different life entirely.

"There it is," Rick announced.

They'd turned onto a street lined with various businesses, all of which looked like dentist's offices and private law practices. He pointed ahead, towards a building at the end of the street. A few seconds later, they were close enough that Beth could read the plain white-and-red sign posted above the entrance: _Terminus Car Rental_. A smaller sign right below read: _Family Owned Since 1991_. Something about that boasted fact didn't bode well in her mind.

This wasn't a corporate chain, so what if they didn't have to abide by the same rules when it came to answering suspicious questions from a member of law enforcement? Maybe she just needed to have more faith in Rick Grimes and his persuasion tactics. Like he'd said, this wasn't his first rodeo. And she believed it.

He parked about halfway down the block, leaving the King County Sheriff's car just out of sight from the big front window of Terminus Car Rental. Daryl tossed out the burnt-down butt of his cigarette as Rick silenced the engine and turned to look at the occupants of his car.

"This the place?" Merle asked, clearly unimpressed. "Family owned, huh? Shit. Bet they're a buncha stubborn Jesus freaks—" he shot Beth a taunting smirk "—jus' like you an' _yer_ family, blondie." Then he barked out a laugh.

But she was ignoring him and focusing on Rick, who was talking to both her and Daryl at the same time.

"Alright, I'm gonna go in an' pull my usual routine," he explained. "'F anything comes up, I'll text one of y'all. Got yer phones on ya?"

Beth nodded, and Daryl glanced down and patted his jeans pocket before nodding as well. Rick gave them a smile of reassurance.

"Good. Shouldn't be too long," he said confidently. "These things usually aren't. Just wait here an' try not to let Merle drive ya crazy."

He chuckled at his little joke, but Beth and Daryl were exchanging a grimace. Then the sheriff was climbing out of the car and slamming the door behind him, and they watched as he strode down the sidewalk and up to the front door of Terminus Car Rental. A second later, he disappeared inside.

Daryl let out a deep sigh.

"Yeah," Beth said from the backseat, agreeing with his unspoken expression. "Me, too."

He merely grunted back.

And surprisingly, she knew exactly what he meant.

Merle clucked his tongue and lit up a new cigarette. "Gettin' _soft_ on me, girly."

She side-eyed him but didn't say anything. This was not the time to go taking his verbal bait. He was just bored and eager to start an argument with the only person who could hear him.

_Please hurry, Rick,_ she thought. _Find out The Governor's name so we can track that asshole down. So I can get this dead guy off my damn back already._

* * *

Five minutes passed. Still no sign of Rick. Then ten minutes. No texts from him either. Fifteen minutes had dragged on, and Beth had nothing to listen to but the sound of Daryl taking drags off a cigarette and Merle's scratchy voice. The dead Dixon was mostly muttering to himself, though he tried to taunt Beth here and there. When he got no reaction, he seemed to give up.

She kept running over the possibilities of the outcome in her head, asking herself what they would do if Rick was unable to get the answers they needed. Did he have another plan if the "usual routine" didn't work out? Or would he suggest that they move on to another lead? Because she really didn't want to give up that easily. Not when The Governor's name could very well be plain as day on someone's computer, just waiting to be found. Why take the long way around when there was a shortcut sitting right in front of them? Even if said shortcut had to be accessed by… less _conventional_ means.

She was beginning to think she may need a back-up plan.

Then Daryl spoke, snapping Beth out of her thoughtful trance while she stared out the window and watched people passing by on the sidewalk.

"How ya likin' it back there?" He asked. "As _fun_ as ya thought it'd be?"

She chuckled. "Not bad. Definitely a smooth ride."

He let out a snort of amusement. Then he casually changed the subject, "Ya see a lotta people at yer mom's memorial? Catch up with some friends an' all that?"

She smiled to herself and replied, "Yeah. It was a good turnout this year. 'Salways nice ta see everybody. They all have their own lives an' all that, so it's hard to keep up. But it usually turns out more like a reunion than a memorial."

"Tha's good," he mumbled. Their eyes briefly met in the rearview mirror before he was looking back down at his lap and the cigarette pinched between his fingers. "Yer dad looked pretty happy—well, not _happy_, but—"

She cut him off with a soft laugh and reassured him, "No, yer right, he was happy. Might seem weird to be happy at a memorial for his late wife, but he's earned it."

Merle scoffed, audibly disinterested and bored by Beth and Daryl's conversation. She ignored him, finding it easier to tune him out when she had the option of focusing on his brother.

"Nah, makes sense," Daryl said. "You uh, catch up with some people? Rick asked 'bout that Jimmy guy—'s he like a cousin ya don't see much or whatever?"

Merle barked out a laugh, but for some reason, he was keeping his comments to himself.

Beth quickly answered, "No, he's my ex-boyfriend. Rick's known him 'bout as long as he's known me. We dated back in high school, but that's… long over. We're still friends, our families have known each other since we were kids."

Daryl grunted but didn't say anything else. Merle was shaking his head and chuckling, low and almost menacing.

A couple more minutes passed in silence. And then Rick finally emerged from behind the front door of Terminus Car Rental.

Beth's heart leapt and she leaned forward, watching the sheriff fast-walk down the sidewalk and back to the car. But as he got closer, she realized he wasn't smiling. In fact, he was frowning. Heavily. His brow was creased and his blue eyes were narrowed, hands clenched into fists at his sides. He looked downright pissed.

"Shit," Merle muttered, taking the word right out of Beth's mouth.

Rick opened the driver's side door and plopped down into the seat, slamming the door shut and letting out a loud sigh of frustration. He turned and looked at Beth and Daryl with a frown.

"Didn't go so well, huh?" Daryl guessed.

"Not at all," Rick admitted. "Family owned—more like family _dominated_. Bunch'a stubborn assholes. Made me wait fifteen minutes just fer mom an' pop ta shut me down personally."

"How'd they shut you down?" Beth asked.

"Yeah," Daryl reiterated. "Wasn't the cop thing s'posed ta be foolproof?"

Merle laughed and snidely remarked, "Can't be foolproof when the _fool's_ the one y'all are relyin' on."

"Well," Rick said, his voice heavy with defeat. "They basically told me to come back with a warrant. Which y'all know ain't gonna happen. No way I can get a warrant fer this without openin' up a whole new case."

"So…?" Daryl asked, staring at the sheriff expectantly. "What now?"

Rick's frown deepened and he gave a half-shrug. "We follow the next lead. Maybe—"

"No," Beth interjected, leaning forward and gripping the back of the front seat with both hands. "We can't just give up on this lead 'cause they won't cooperate. The Governor's real name is right at our _fingertips_, all we need is one _look_ at their stupid database!"

Rick blinked, a bit taken aback, and looked at her with confusion. "Beth, if they aren't willing to comply, then I have no legal power to force them. It'd just backfire and land me in hot water fer goin' so far outta my jurisdiction. I know how people like this operate, an' they're the type who wouldn't hesitate to file a lawsuit. They prob'ly got a lawyer on retainer just _waitin'_ for shit like this."

"Yeah?" Beth raised her eyebrows, a rush of adrenaline flowing through her and giving her an odd boost of confidence. "So are they also the type who'd be freaked the hell out by a _ghost_?"

The corner of Rick's mouth twitched and he seemed to be studying her, trying to figure out what she was alluding to. Then he smirked.

"What d'you got in mind?"

A mischievous smile curled her lips upwards. She'd been thinking about this. And she'd tried to tell herself it was unnecessary, that she just didn't have enough faith in Rick. But now she knew that it was a _good_ thing she'd thought about it. Her paranoia and doubt would pay off, after all.

And maybe Merle's presence would pay off, too. In its own way.

"I think I have a plan," she said. "But you'll have to trust me."

Daryl was the first to respond, and he almost sounded eager.

"What's the plan, Greene?"

**to be continued… **


	40. Living One Sitcom Trope at a Time

**Living One Sitcom Trope at a Time**

Daryl opened the heavy glass door and held it while Beth walked through, following close behind her. A bell chimed above them and they approached the front desk of Terminus Car Rental just as a tall, skinny, brown-haired man emerged from the door of the office behind it. He looked young, maybe a few years older than Beth. His smile seemed genuine, but it gave her an odd chill nonetheless.

There was a sign on the door in bold black letters that read: _Authorized Personnel Only_. And hanging on the wall next to the door was a framed photo of what appeared to be a small family; a pair of older parents and two twenty-something-year-old sons with matching hair and eyes. One of the sons was the guy behind the desk.

Merle appeared a few feet to Beth's left, standing by with his arms crossed over his chest and an expression of disapproval on his face as he took in the interior of the business. As agreed, he was keeping his mouth shut for the time being.

The computer sat behind the desk, the monitor facing the door of the office. She kept running over what Rick had explained inside her head. All she needed was maybe ten seconds alone with that damn thing. Just a chance to lean over the desk and reach the keyboard, to open one little file and steal a peek at the screen. But she'd have to make sure it was logged in first. There was no time to be guessing passwords today.

"Hi there!" The man behind the desk greeted Beth and Daryl. His shiny gold name badge read: _Gareth_. "How can I help you folks today?"

Beth set her elbows on the desk and leaned in a bit, putting on her brightest smile and batting her eyelashes at Gareth. She could feel Daryl tensing up beside her, prepared to follow her lead. "Hi, how are you today—" she pointedly glanced at his name badge and smiled a little wider "—Gareth?"

He smiled back and nodded. "I'm well, and yourself?"

She could tell he was trying to focus on her, but he was offering Daryl the wariest of glances. She had to remind herself that Daryl could be intimidating at first, all scowls and shaggy hair. So she amped up her cheer a bit in an effort to compensate.

"Oh, I'm _great_," she said, beaming. "My husband an' I are here for our honeymoon, and we were thinkin' about renting a car to make the sight-seeing a little easier."

Daryl grunted, eyes widening just the slightest. Gareth didn't seem to notice, though. He appeared surprised at first, but then he nodded eagerly. "Congratulations! Um, yeah absolutely, let's see what we can put you guys in. Are we thinkin' for the day, or a week maybe?"

Beth shrugged, pretending to be indecisive. "Not sure yet. We thought we'd come in an' see what kinda prices you have—maybe there's a deal you could offer for a couple of newlyweds like us?" She batted her eyelashes again, giggling softly.

Gareth stepped over a couple inches until he was directly in front of the computer, one hand on the mouse and the other tapping a few keys on the keyboard, studying the screen for a moment. He raised his eyebrows and said, "Lemme just pull up some info…" He paused and sighed in annoyance, explaining, "Sorry, this darn thing is so slow these days, takes forever to load—oh yeah, here we go. Okay we have a package deal here…"

Beth pretended to listen, shooting Merle a meaningful side-eye and giving a discreet nod of her head. The dead Dixon grinned and winked at her, then he disappeared.

"And were you guys thinkin' a specific type of vehicle?" Gareth asked, raising his eyes from the computer screen to look at Beth.

Daryl interjected, "Got any SUVs?"

Gareth nodded quickly and looked back to the screen, making a few clicks and tapping a key here and there. "Let's see… Oh yeah, we have a few options, if you—"

A woman's scream came from somewhere behind the office door, "_SHIT_!" Then the clatter of something heavy falling to the floor, followed by the resounding _diiiiing_ of metal on metal.

Gareth whipped his head around and called out frantically, "Mom?!" He looked back to Beth and Daryl and said, "Please excuse me, I'll be right back." And before they could respond, he was turning around and disappearing behind the office door as fast as he could.

Without a second of hesitation, Beth dashed around the desk and stopped in front of the computer, quickly taking in what was displayed on the screen. She remembered Rick's instructions and clicked on a menu, scrolling through until she found the file she needed. It filled the screen and she tapped a few keys with shaky hands. Daryl was staring at the office door, tense and poised to strike.

The sound of voices was getting closer from behind the door.

"Hurry up," he hissed.

"I am, I am!" Beth whispered. But the screen was still loading, taking what felt like forever to show the results of her search. "Crap—it's lagging."

"I had 'im lookin' up SUVs, shouldn't that make it faster to find?"

"He was looking at _open_ vehicles, not the ones that are rented—"

Merle appeared right beside her, causing her to jump in surprise. His eyes were wide and he kept glancing at the office door. "I couldn't do it, blondie—couldn't keep 'em distracted. I'ono what happened, but they're comin' back, so hurry the fuck up!"

"It's not _loading_!" She hissed, nearly brought to tears by panic and fear. She clicked the mouse furiously, urging the computer to respond.

The doorknob of the office door was beginning to turn. Merle disappeared.

Daryl grunted out, "Time fer Plan B."

Beth looked at him quizzically—what Plan B? They hadn't made one!—but she was quickly distracted by the need to make a mad dash back to the other side of the desk before Gareth pushed the door open.

And just as the door opened and Gareth stepped out, followed by an older woman that could only be his mother, Daryl grabbed at his own chest and dropped to his knees on the floor a few feet away from the front of the desk, right in the middle of the lobby of Terminus Car Rental. He let out a strangled groan of pain and Beth rushed over to him.

"Holy—what's going on?!" Gareth cried, racing past the desk entirely and straight towards Daryl and Beth. His mother followed him, a look of confusion on her aging face.

Daryl only had to give Beth a single meaningful look with his eyes in the midst of his dramatic act for her to understand. _Play along_.

"Oh my god!" She wailed, forced tears filling her eyes as she knelt down and held Daryl by the arms, pretending to be terrified. "My husband! Please, _help_ him! I think it's his heart!"

"Oh, Jesus! Okay," Gareth's mother said—Beth caught a glimpse of her name badge, which read: _Mary_. She rushed over and knelt down to grab Daryl by the arm and ease him to the floor. "It'll be okay, I used to be a nurse, I can help—ma'am, you need to call nine-one-one. Gareth! Run back to the office, grab your dad's nitroglycerin pills from my desk! Top drawer!"

"_Christ_! O-okay!" Gareth exclaimed as he turned on his heel and sprinted to the office door, disappearing behind it once again.

"I don't—we don't carry cell phones!" Beth lied, her forced tears beginning to fall freely down her cheeks. She was channeling her high school theatre days rather successfully in the heat of the moment.

Mary was completely focused on Daryl now, struggling to keep his head up off the floor while he groaned loudly in pain and pretended to be on the brink of losing consciousness. She waved towards the desk, where the computer sat, and instructed, "Behind the desk, next to the computer—there's a phone, use that one! _Hurry!_ He needs an ambulance!"

"Oh my god, thank you!" Beth sobbed, racing over to the desk and stepping behind it.

She grinned as soon as she saw that the page had finally loaded on the computer screen. Mary was too distracted with talking to Daryl, begging him to stay awake and calling out for Gareth to hurry the hell up, to notice Beth typing on the computer rather than picking up the phone.

This time, it only took her a couple of seconds. The results finally appeared for the license plate she'd seen in her vision. She grabbed a block of Post-It notes and ripped one off, grabbing a pen and jotting down the name with a trembling hand. Then she stuffed the note into her pocket and closed out of the menu displayed on the computer monitor. Just in time for the office door to open and Gareth to step out. He didn't seem to notice her, so she followed after him and back to Daryl.

Gareth was handing the bottle of pills over and Mary was taking them frantically, and during that split-second, Daryl opened his eyes and looked up at Beth. She gave him a nod and he smiled.

Before Mary could even get the pill bottle open, Daryl was letting out another groan and sitting up, jumping to his feet. Mary and Gareth reeled, staring in shock.

"We'd better go," Daryl said simply, reaching out for Beth.

She took his hand and they practically raced to the front door while Mary and Gareth called after them, "What—what're you _doing_?! What the hell—"

Their voices drifted away behind them as Beth and Daryl jogged hand-in-hand down the sidewalk and away from Terminus Car Rental. Rick had parked farther down at the end of the block, and by the time they reached the sheriff's car, they were laughing. They hopped in as fast as they could, slamming their doors shut and fastening their seatbelts.

Rick sat up to attention and looked at them quizzically. "Did you—"

"We had to go with Plan B, but we did it!" Beth said triumphantly.

"Plan B—?"

"We need ta get the hell outta here 'fore they decide to follow us an' report yer ass," Daryl ordered. "Drive, man!"

Rick hurriedly started up the engine and pulled out into the street. "Say no more."

* * *

Once Beth and Daryl had caught their breaths, and Rick had put a few blocks between them and Terminus Car Rental, the sheriff looked over at Daryl curiously.

"Do I even wanna _know_ what Plan B consisted of?" He asked, glancing at Beth in the rearview mirror.

She couldn't help but giggle. Daryl turned to Rick and said, "'Member how ya said I'm a bad liar?"

"Yeah…"

"Well, eat yer words, 'cause I deserve a goddamn Oscar fer _that_ performance."

Rick laughed, dumbfounded, and while Daryl began explaining what took place with Mary and Gareth, Merle reappeared next to Beth in the backseat. Her smile fell and she shot him a scowl, though he was grinning smugly.

"That went well," he remarked sarcastically.

She lowered her voice, glaring at him, and asked, "What the hell _happened_ to you? We had a plan, why'd you go an' screw it up? Don't you want us ta find your murderer?"

Merle frowned and furrowed his brow. "I didn't screw nothin' up, y'all made it work, didn'tcha? Shit. I did what I could."

"Did you even turn off the security cameras like we asked?"

"_Yes_! And I fuckin' distracted 'em—"

"_Once_! You were s'posed ta keep 'em distracted for at least a few minutes. Why didn't you jus' throw some more crap around in their back room?"

His frown deepened and he glanced away, almost ashamed. "'Cause I… couldn't."

Beth blinked. "_Couldn't_?"

"You got cum in yer ears or somethin'? Did I fuckin' _stutter_?"

"You could cause all that mayhem at the Sheriff's Department, but you couldn't keep a couple of strangers occupied for—"

"You talkin' to Merle? What the hell happened?" Daryl had craned his head around from the front seat, gazing back at Beth. Rick was glancing back at her as well, visibly intrigued by her quiet conversation with the other side of the empty backseat.

She couldn't even be bothered to feel embarrassed by the fact that she'd been caught audibly talking to a ghost in front of Rick and Daryl. Her adrenaline was still running high from their little mission. She shot Merle another scathing glare, but he just shrugged and proceeded to pull out a cigarette and light it between his lips.

"That's what I was tryin' to figure out," she explained. "He claims he _couldn't_ distract 'em long enough."

"Please tell me he still managed to turn off the cameras," Rick said.

"He _says_ he did."

"I did!" Merle snapped, waving a dismissive hand in her direction. "Not my fault y'all were standin' 'round, finger-poppin' each other's assholes—"

"We weren't _finger-popping_ each other's _assholes_! Did you not _see_ me tryin' to work as fast as I could at that damn computer?!"

Rick's eyes went wide, but Daryl just snorted and shook his head.

"Sorry, _what_ was that now?" Rick asked.

"'S jus' Merle," Daryl muttered to the sheriff, as though that were more than enough explanation.

"So _why_ couldn't you do more? What does that _mean_?" Beth insisted, glaring across the seat at Merle even while he pretended to ignore her.

He merely shrugged and took a drag off his cigarette. "I'ono. Pushed one thing over, made a helluva clatter, then it just… stopped. Tried ta make a mess, but I couldn't touch nothin'. That's that. No use dwellin' on it, y'all got the fuckin' info ya needed. Let's jus' move on already, princess."

She stared back at him, furiously indignant, but bit back the insults that wanted to spew forth.

He was right—no point in dwelling on it now. They had what they needed for the time being, and daylight was burning.

Daryl and Rick were watching her warily from the rearview mirror. She let out a deep sigh and shook her head, then she reached into her pocket and extracted the Post-It note.

Rick started, "So…?"

"I dunno," Beth muttered. "I'll worry about his incapabilities later. We got The Governor's name, and I wrote it down just in case."

"So what is it?" Daryl asked eagerly.

"Anybody we mighta heard of?" Rick asked.

"Doubt it," she said, unfolding the bright yellow Post-It and gazing down at her own shaky handwriting. Then she reached forward and handed it over the seat to Daryl.

He took it and squinted down at the writing. He frowned and grunted.

"Brian F. Blake," he read aloud.

They were all silent for a moment. Then Rick made a thoughtful humming sound, slowing and stopping at an intersection as the light turned red.

"Blake… Why does that sound familiar?" He mused.

"Pretty common name," Daryl suggested.

"I had a teacher in middle school named Mr. Blake," Beth remarked. "But he was really old, and he died before I graduated…"

Rick began stroking his chin, quietly pondering the name. Daryl was chewing on his thumbnail, staring down at the Post-It in his hand like it might reveal more information.

Beth looked over at Merle expectantly and waited for him to turn his head and meet her intense gaze. When he finally did, he blew a cloud of smoke towards her and scowled.

"_What?_" He snapped.

She raised her eyebrows. "That name doesn't sound familiar?"

He scoffed and turned back to the window. "I already told you, my pa wouldn't give up no names. Brian Blake sounds 'bout as familiar to me as The Governor."

An idea popped into her head and she quickly looked back to Rick and Daryl. "Wait—how d'we know he didn't use a fake name to rent the car?"

"'Cause it ain't possible," Rick replied. "Gotta have ID, and usually a credit card that matches it. If it's a fake name… it'd have ta be somebody he's close to. An identity that was easy to steal."

Daryl piped up, "Or somebody he's _killed_."

Beth gasped. "What—you think?" She turned to Rick. "Is that… possible?"

Rick sighed, resituating his hands on the steering wheel and offering her an uncertain glance in the rearview mirror. "There's a lotta possibilities here. Wouldn't be the first time I've seen somebody steal a deceased person's identity. But we can't confirm anything till we get back to the station. I got access to a couple databases, I can see what comes up when I search the name."

"If he went to prison," Daryl said. "Must mean he's got a criminal record, don't see why he wouldn't—"

He paused and began coughing, turning his head and coughing into his arm for a long second. Then he cleared his throat, shrugging his shoulders and resituating in the passenger seat. "Sorry, I—" He started coughing again, louder and harder, gasping for breath in between.

"Shit, you alrigh'?" Rick asked, looking over at Daryl with concern.

The living Dixon continued coughing, a horrible wet sound coming from the back of his throat and rendering him incapable of speech. His face was turning bright red and he began waving his hand, motioning desperately for Rick to pull over while he struggled to catch his breath.

Beth unclicked her seatbelt and leaned forward, reaching over the back of the seat to grasp Daryl's shoulder. "Daryl, are you okay?! D'you need water?" He shook his head, still coughing, and she told Rick, "Pull over! I think he's chokin' on something!"

Merle was at attention now, leaning forward and surveying the scene worriedly. "What the hell's wrong with 'im?!"

"Christ man, _breathe_!" Rick exclaimed, hurriedly pulling over to the side of the street and parking the car.

Daryl was still coughing as he opened the passenger side door and stumbled out onto the sidewalk, doubled-over, hacking and gasping, one arm grasping at his ribs as he struggled for breath. Beth and Rick jumped out of the car and hurried over to him.

"That ain't no fuckin' smoker's cough!" Merle cried out from behind Beth. "Call a goddamn ambulance 'fore he _dies_ on this sidewalk, Beth!"

Rick positioned himself behind Daryl and wrapped his arms around his middle. "I'm gonna do the Heimlich, jus' try ta relax, Daryl!"

Daryl shook his head and shoved Rick off of him, stepping forward. He stumbled over his own feet and fell to his knees. Beth hurried forward and grabbed him by the shoulders, offering support while he leaned forward and placed both hands flat on the sidewalk, his coughing turning into loud hacking and retching. Rick stood by helplessly, completely baffled.

"Is he chokin' on something? He wasn't even eatin' anything!" He said.

"I don't _know_!" Beth cried, tears of panic filling her eyes as she watched Daryl's face turning from red to purple. She began to fumble for her phone with one hand, prepared to dial 911.

Then he gave one more hacking cough, doubling over in pain, and something spewed forward from his mouth. It landed on the sidewalk before him with a loud _splat!_

He gave a few more coughs, cleared his throat, and leaned back, panting and slowly catching his breath. His face was returning to normal color, but his eyes were still watery and he was shaking.

"Jesus, what the fuck is _that_?!" Rick exclaimed.

Merle's jaw dropped. "Holy…"

Beth was still clutching Daryl by the shoulders, focused on rubbing a soothing hand over his back as he inhaled and exhaled, but she turned her head and looked down to see what had escaped from Daryl's throat. She grimaced.

It was a thick, black, tar-like substance. She couldn't say she'd ever seen anything like it before, except maybe in movies. And realizing that Daryl had coughed it up made her nauseous. She looked away quickly and back to Daryl to find him staring down at the unknown goop, an expression of fear and confusion on his face.

"Jesus fuckin' tits," Merle mumbled, stepping forward and gazing down with wide eyes. "Are y'all seein' what _I'm_ seein'?"

"Possible _cancer_?" Beth snapped without thinking. She hadn't meant to say it out loud, but as soon as it escaped, her stomach dropped.

_Please don't have cancer, _she silently prayed.

"Nah," Rick said, assuming she was talking to him. "That… that ain't cancer, Beth. That ain't even _human_."

Daryl was still panting heavily on his knees, clearing his throat and staring wordlessly at the thing he'd just hacked up.

"He's right," Merle said, his voice low and ominous. Fearful. "It's a symbol. _Look_ at it, blondie. It's…"

He trailed off and Beth forced herself to look back at the substance on the ground, fighting back another wave of nausea when she saw it. But it only took her about half a second to realize what Merle was talking about.

The goopy black tar had expelled itself onto the sidewalk and formed a symbol. A very dark and familiar symbol that resembled some kind of demonic compass.

The words escaped her lips on a breath full of dread: "Papa Legba."

**to be continued… **


	41. Like, Dead Dead? Or Just Dead?

**Like, Dead Dead? Or Just Dead?**

"You _sure_ you don't wanna go to the ER?" Rick asked for the third or fourth time, glancing over at Daryl warily.

"Told you, I'm _fine_," Daryl snapped, agitated.

They were back in the sheriff's car, driving through Atlanta towards the way they came. Merle was silent and thoughtful in his seat, Daryl was brooding in his, and Rick and Beth were sitting up straight and stiff, still nervous about what they'd just witnessed.

"Daryl, you should _really_ go to the hospital," Beth insisted. "At least stop by Urgent Care, get checked out—"

He whipped his head around and shot her a glare. "You gonna pay for it? 'Cause I ain't got no fuckin' insurance. 'Mnot goin' in there an' waitin' around fer three hours just so they can charge me a couple grand an' lecture me about smokin'."

She snapped her lips shut and sat back, choosing to drop it for now. She tried to tell herself she was being paranoid. It was obviously a warning from Papa Legba, nothing more. But she couldn't shake the intrusive thoughts that had begun filling her head. She couldn't stop thinking, _What if it __**is**__ cancer?_

She couldn't go through that again. Not with Daryl. She couldn't sit by and watch it happen to him.

"Relax," Rick said, his voice stern as he spoke to the living Dixon. "She's just worried. And rightfully so. That was pretty damn scary, ya know."

"No shit," Daryl argued. "The demon that my brother sold my soul to sendin' me a warning in the form of nearly fuckin' chokin' me to death? Yeah, scary's an _understatement_."

Rick frowned. "Well I was 'bout ta radio for an ambulance, so we were _both_ worried. That's all I'm sayin'."

Daryl scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest and turning his head to gaze out the passenger side window with a scowl. "Y'all are jus' _tryin'_ ta send me into bankruptcy today, ain't ya…"

Rick sighed and Beth rolled her eyes, but they exchanged a look in the rearview mirror and silently agreed that it was probably better to just drop it for now. No point in pissing Daryl off any more than he already was. He would just clam up and shut them out if they kept fussing over him.

Besides, Beth had a feeling that he was more scared than pissed. The more she got to know him, the more she recognized his defense mechanisms. And the one he used most was his rage. Instead of showing his fear, he got angry. It probably made him feel less vulnerable, she guessed. She had to remember that he associated fear with weakness. That was how he'd been raised. It wasn't his fault. Merle was the same way, even in death. It seemed to be something that was ingrained within their personalities.

She couldn't blame Daryl; she was pretty damn terrified right now, too. And she wasn't even the one who'd just hacked up a demon's calling card on a public sidewalk.

There were a few long and loaded moments of silence. The tension inside the car was palpable, everyone lost in their own dreadful thoughts. Even Merle was keeping to himself, and Beth wasn't sure she wanted to know what was going through his head right now. At least he wasn't up and disappearing, though. They might still need his help.

"So that was a… _warning_?" Rick asked, breaking the silence once they'd exited Atlanta City Limits and entered the freeway.

Daryl merely grunted, refusing to turn and give the sheriff his attention. He was smoking a cigarette out the open window, wind whipping through his shaggy hair.

"Yeah," Beth responded from the backseat. "Papa Legba's gettin' pissed because we're gettin' close."

"And how d'you know that for sure?" Rick asked, occasionally meeting her eyes in the rearview mirror. "I mean, not to doubt you or anything, just outta curiosity."

She sighed, the exhaustion evident in her tone. "Well, whenever I had that vision in the evidence room, I saw one of his Hellhounds. I, um—I _felt_ its anger. Then, last night, he talked to me in my dream. Basically warned me not to get too close. I can just… tell he's mad. It's hard to explain, but I can sense it. And there's really only one reason he'd be mad."

Rick _hmm_ed with intrigue. "Because y'all might actually solve this thing an' come out on the winning side of the deal Merle made…?"

"Exactly," she confirmed. "Legba's been lookin' forward to getting Daryl's soul outta this deal, but I think he's realizing that we might actually turn it around on him. And from what we've learned so far, he's kind of a sore loser."

Rick chuckled, shaking his head and gripping the steering wheel a little tighter. "Shit. What a rollercoaster we're on."

Daryl grunted unhappily and mumbled, "And we're only just gettin' started."

Merle _hmph_ed and said, "Buncha fuckin' cynical assholes, ain'tcha? We just swindled those dumbasses outta their information like some kinda goddamn heist movie! And y'all wanna be _buzzkills_ after that? Daryl's fine and we got what we needed!" He looked at Beth as though he expected her to repeat his statement for the living to hear. "Can't we look on the _bright side _for once?"

She sneered at him, giving him a look that said, _Now is really not the time._

He rolled his eyes. "Jesus, y'all are bummin' me the fuck out."

* * *

The drive back to Senoia felt longer than the drive to Atlanta. Though that was most likely due to the heightened tensions and uncomfortable silence within the car.

After about twenty minutes of nothing but the occasional police scanner crackle and a dispatcher's voice here and there, Rick reached over and turned on the civilian radio. Classic country music filled the car at a low volume. And still, no one spoke.

Daryl chain-smoked out the open window, and his dead brother did the same in the backseat. Rick focused on the road, an expression of deep contemplation on his face the whole time. And Beth relaxed in her seat, resting her forehead against the glass of her window and watching the fields and farms and other cars flash by in blurs of colors. Her eyelids drooped and her breathing steadied.

She didn't _mean_ to fall asleep. But it was something she was prone to doing on car trips that lasted longer than thirty minutes, ever since she was a kid. Something about the smooth motion of the vehicle and the hum of the road beneath the tires always lulled her into a state of complete relaxation.

Luckily, as soon as she opened her eyes and found herself staring out at a vast, dark lake, she knew she was asleep.

This wasn't Rick's car, nor was it the Sheriff's Department. This wasn't even Georgia. Daryl was nowhere to be found. She couldn't hear Merle's scratchy voice or sense his presence.

This wasn't a memory or a dream. It was another plane of existence entirely.

Shit.

"_You're so eager to return to a place where most would flee," A deep voice spoke, tinted with a Creole accent, filling her ears and sending chills up and down her spine. "Try as you might to fight it, young Visitor, but I have a __**special**__ place saved for you." He laughed, high and cold. "Far away from the Dixon Brothers. You'll hear their screams of agony in the distance, and you will be incapable of ever reaching them."_

_Beth blinked and turned, facing the tall dark figure that loomed beside her. She saw his gleaming white teeth, his crimson red eyes. The familiar symbol carved into his face. The skullhead cane gripped between his charcoal black hands. He was handsome. Attractive, even—in a terrifying way. _

_A breeze, hot as fire, drifted up from the water and ruffled his long trenchcoat, the ends billowing around his legs. It blew through Beth's hair, whipping it off her face and making her neck sweat. She swallowed hard and forced herself to stare up at him, to meet his bright red gaze and his smug smirk. Despite how small and intimidated she felt._

"_You know that's not how this is gonna end," she said flatly. Her voice came out louder than she'd expected, but she was grateful for that. She willed all her strength into sounding confident. "I'm not that young, Legba. I'm a grown woman, and I __**know**__ what I'm capable of. You wouldn't be goin' so far outta your way if you weren't scared."_

_Papa Legba threw his head back and barked out a loud and malicious laugh, his long dreads tumbling over his shoulders. His hands wrapped around the skullhead of his cane, black-lacquered fingernails glinting in an unseen light. Then he said, with less amusement, "__**Scared**__? Your soul may be older than your body, but you are still no more than a child in an adult's playground. I am __**forever**__, little one. I've been around since the beginning of Time, and I will remain here far past the end of your measly soul's existence."_

_He paused, the corner of his mouth curling upward into a vicious half-smile. His eyes flashed from crimson to red. "The day that I feel fear from the likes of you will be the same day that the Creator erases everything He's ever created… You are __**weak**__. You may experience a bout of luck every now and then, but in the end? Oh, my dear, you will bow at my feet. You will tremble and __**beg**__ for a taste of Papa Legba's sweet mercy. Just as all your Visiting ancestors before you have."_

_Beth stiffened, hands clenching into fists at her sides. She refused to look away, refused to let onto the fact that her entire body was covered in goosebumps and shivering with cold chills. She glared up at him, defiant._

"_I __**am**__ strong," she said. "And so is Daryl. We're already close—we're gonna hold up your stupid deal, but yer not gonna win. You can't lie to me, Legba. You're pissed 'cause we're gettin' close to a solution. And you're makin' it __**awfully**__ obvious."_

_Papa Legba laughed again, shaking his head. "You think you know it all, don't you? Papa Legba does not get angry. Nor does he make deals that he knows he cannot win. Merle Dixon is the foundation of your plan, and he will crumble. His precious brother will pay my price… And just to teach you a lesson, __**you'll**__ pay it, too."_

_She blinked and swallowed hard, a painful twisting sensation filling her stomach. But she refused to let it show. "You don't own Daryl's soul yet. And you'll __**never**__ own mine. We'll fulfill your stupid little deal, we'll give you a soul—but it won't be Daryl's."_

_Legba scoffed. "I don't __**want**__ anyone else's. I want __**his**__. You'll see… Papa Legba __**always**__ gets what he wants."_

_Beth narrowed her eyes. "You're a demon. You're notorious for lying. And I don't believe you."_

_He smirked smugly, wrapping his long fingers tighter around the cane in his hands. "And that is your own mistake. Your puppy love for Daryl Dixon won't save his soul, sunshine girl. Try as you might, but Papa Legba always prevails."_

_He tilted his chin back and glared down his nose at her, red eyes glowing bright and menacing._

"_I will rip him away from you just the same as your beloved mother was taken. You will __**hurt**__. You will __**suffer**__. And for what?" He chuckled, raising his eyebrows. "For some selfish, ignorant, dead redneck that you were never meant to save in the first place?"_

_Beth's heart skipped and plummeted down to her feet. She wanted to argue, but she was speechless. Paralyzed with fear._

_Papa Legba cackled and waved a black-laquered hand lazily in her direction. "Go on then. __**Try**__. Allow yourself to intertwine with this doomed soul. Put all your efforts into saving him from his Fate. But don't forget, no matter what you may do… you were __**never**__ meant to succeed. This is nothing more than a game for those of us that will eventually be your keepers."_

"_Fuck you," Beth spat. It was the first thing that popped into her head, and the only thing she could force herself to say._

_But it only made the demon laugh harder. Louder. The surface of the lake seemed to ripple from the sound. Another strong breeze picked up._

"_Don't get cocksure just yet," he growled, glaring down at her. "I've only just __**begun**__ playing with __**you**__, Sunshine Girl."_

* * *

"Hey, Beth! Wake the fuck up already!"

Beth jerked awake, bumping her forehead against the glass of the window. She hissed and rubbed her head, blinking the sleep from her eyes and glancing around in confusion. Merle was right next to her, yelling in her ear.

She scowled at him and nudged an elbow to move him away, though it went right through him. He sat back all the same, frowning heavily at her.

"The hell was that?" He asked. "Looked like you was goin' into a goddamn coma. Stay alert, blondie. This ain't the time to be driftin' off to Dreamland."

She sighed and waved him off, sitting up and attempting to blink away the memory of her dream as it swam through her head.

Christ, she'd seen Papa Legba. _Again_. And this time he'd told her things that… well, that she quite honestly didn't want to repeat. To _anyone_.

He was just trying to scare her. Because he was angry. She knew. She could tell. He thought he could spook her like he spooked every other mortal he'd ever tortured or haunted or made deals with. He thought she was naive and weak. He thought she was a frightened young girl who was getting in way over her head. He was assuming he could throw her off the trail with a few empty threats and terrifying smiles. He thought he could make her give up.

But he was wrong. Oh, so very wrong.

_What an idiot, _she thought. _Typical man, putting on a tough facade and trying to convince me that he's winning because he __**knows**__ he's losing. Maybe Jadis was right… it's all just a game. Like some demented form of long-term Chess. And we're just the Pawns, ready to be sacrificed for another entertaining play._

"You have another vision? Or a dream?" Merle prodded from the other side of the backseat. Though he wasn't smirking like usual. There was a deep crease in his brow and he was eyeballing her with something that resembled concern. "There somethin' else we should be worried 'bout _now_, li'l Miss Psychic?"

She watched as they passed a big blue sign that read: _Welcome To King County_. And a few seconds later, a smaller green sign declared: _Senoia 5_, _Peachtree City 16_, and _Fayetteville 20_.

She let out a deep sigh. Then she looked over at Merle and simply shook her head.

He frowned, displeased, but didn't prod any further. He turned and looked out his window instead, pulling out his pack of smokes and lighting another one up.

Less than ten minutes later, Rick was pulling into the parking lot of the King County Sheriff's Department and parking his cruiser in its usual spot. As soon as the engine was silenced, they all opened their doors and climbed out—except for Merle, of course. The dead Dixon simply disappeared and reappeared several feet away, leaning against the wall next to the door of the building and pulling out his cigarettes.

"Alright," Rick declared, pocketing his keys once the vehicle was locked up. "Let's go find out who this asshole really is."

Daryl grunted in agreement and eagerly followed as the sheriff led the way inside. Beth trailed after them, hugging herself tightly as she struggled to push out the images of Papa Legba that were invading her mind.

_Puppy love… _She wanted to scoff aloud, but she didn't. She couldn't say _anything_. There was no way to explain that stupid dream to Daryl or Rick or even Merle. Hell, not even Maggie.

It wasn't fucking "puppy love." It wasn't _anything_. It was just genuine concern for another human being. For an innocent soul that didn't deserve to be tossed into the fiery pits of Hell. For a friend that she didn't want to let suffer alone.

Well, maybe that's what it had _begun_ as…

_No_. She shook her head, pushing all those ridiculous thoughts away.

She wanted to help. And Daryl Dixon needed help. _Her_ help. He needed her Gift. So did Merle. She wasn't just doing it for Daryl. She was doing it for _both_ of the Dixon boys.

She was doing it because she had a feeling that Leanne Dixon wasn't too terribly different from Annette Greene, and Beth knew that she would've wanted her children to be safe. To be happy. She would've wanted them to rest easy, even after death, even despite all the mistakes they'd made in their lives. Because that's what _her _mama would've wanted—for Maggie and Shawn and Beth.

_A mother's love is unconditional_. Annette had said it a thousand times, and so had Hershel. It was an unquestionable truth. Beth wouldn't let herself forget it. Wouldn't let it die with the mothers who'd loved their children.

No matter what Papa Legba thought. He was wrong. And he was deceitful.

Shit, he was a _demon_.

She just had to remember that: he was a demon, and he would try any and every method to throw her off the trail. To distract her from her core values. To make her lose sight of what really mattered. To make her doubt herself, to cement her doubt in Merle, and cause her to lose faith in Daryl.

But she wouldn't let him win. Not today. Not _ever_.

If this was a game, then she wasn't going to be the Pawn. She was gonna be the goddamn Queen.

* * *

As they stepped into Rick's office and the sheriff hurried over to his desk, Daryl paused in the doorway and turned back to Beth. He gazed down at her, concern etched into his features.

"Ya alrigh'?" He asked quietly, just loud enough for her to hear.

She nodded, pursing her lips. Then she forced a small smile.

He studied her for a second, uncertain. Finally, he grunted and gently nudged her side with his elbow before turning and walking over the threshold. She followed close behind, looking over as Merle appeared in the corner of the room.

The dead Dixon was watching her, smirking knowingly while his blue eyes flicked back and forth between her and his brother.

She ignored it and took a seat. Daryl plopped down in the seat beside her. Rick was already typing away on his computer, staring at the screen. The Post-It note with The Governor's name scribbled on it was sitting beside the keyboard, and the sheriff glanced down at it once or twice while he typed and clicked away.

It felt like several minutes had passed in silence. Daryl was beginning to let his restlessness show, clucking his tongue loudly and leaning back in his chair, eyes set on Rick from across the desk. Beth wriggled in her seat, hands fidgeting in her lap.

"I know, I know," Rick said, eyes still glued to the computer monitor before him. "I'm just… tryin' ta make sense of this."

"Make sense of _what_?" Daryl asked, his voice edged with impatience. "We got his name, we know he's got a buddy in prison, what else is there ta make sense of? He not showin' up on yer system or sum'n?"

Rick sighed, clicking his mouse a couple more times. "I think we were right… about him usin' a fake name."

Daryl groaned and Beth tensed up.

"You can't be serious," she said, all of her prior confidence deflating.

"Well, the only thing comin' up for Brian F. Blake," Rick explained, frowning. "Really ain't… _helpful_."

"What's that mean?" Daryl asked. "Y'gotta elaborate here, man."

Rick shook his head and sighed, bringing one hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. He hesitated, slowly opening his eyes and meeting Beth and Daryl's expectant gazes.

"According to all available public records," he said flatly. "Brian F. Blake has been dead for almost forty years."

Merle guffawed loudly, inexplicably amused by this information. Meanwhile, Beth and Daryl were staring back at Rick, jaws slack and faces disbelieving.

"Shut up," Daryl said.

"No, I'm serious," Rick insisted, taking on a slightly apologetic tone. "I searched _everywhere_, and he's dead. Served in the military, had a driver's license, no criminal record, lived in Senoia. Died a year after he got back from his first Tour."

"He's… dead?" Beth sputtered. "Like… _really_ dead?"

Rick nodded. "Super dead."

"_How_?" She burst out. "How'd he die?"

Rick shrugged and turned his attention back to the computer monitor, clicking the mouse a few more times and tapping some keys on the keyboard. His eyebrows rose and he let out a low whistle.

"You find it?" Daryl asked impatiently.

"Yeah," Rick confirmed. "Says he… committed suicide. No foul play suspected."

Merle barked out a laugh. "What a fuckin' joke! No way this is real. Am I on _Punk'd_ right now?" He threw out his hands and looked around comically. "Where the hell you hidin', Ashton Kutcher?!"

Beth ignored him and focused on Daryl and Rick, her expression closely matched to theirs. Disbelief. Bewilderment. Disappointment.

An idea popped into her head, spurred by something Rick had said back in Atlanta. And she voiced it: "So did he have family? Somebody close to him that could be using his identity?"

Rick's eyes lit up with a mixture of surprise and intrigue. Merle chuckled like it was a stupid idea. But Daryl made a grunt of agreement, and the sheriff was already rushing to type in another search, clicking the mouse and narrowing his eyes at the screen.

_Tap tap tap. Click click click._ A grumble of discontent. A few more _tap_s and _click_s.

Then he smiled.

"Beth," he said. "I'm startin' to think yer pretty damn cut out for this solvin' mysteries thing."

She exchanged a quizzical look with Daryl and opened her mouth to question what the sheriff meant. But then Rick was turning his computer monitor around so they could see it.

"The late Brian Blake only has one living relative left: his _brother_."

A photo and a long list of information was displayed on the screen. Beth gasped when she realized it was The Governor; all blue-green eyes and messy brown hair and angry, hardened face. Almost exactly as she remembered him from the visions.

And right beneath his photo, in bold black letters, was his real name:

_Philip M. Blake_

**to be continued… **


	42. Breaking Bad Booty Calls

**Breaking Bad Booty Calls**

"That's him?" Daryl growled. "That's the ugly fucker who killed my brother an' wants to kill me, too?"

He looked to Beth for confirmation and she nodded weakly, lips pursed.

Merle stepped closer, squinting at the screen and studying the photo for a second. He frowned and returned to leaning against the wall, and Beth awaited his inevitable commentary. But it never came. He just sucked on his teeth and glared across the room at the computer monitor, as though The Governor would be able to feel his rage somehow.

Beth reckoned it didn't feel so good to see your murderer's mugshot and still have no recollection of dying at his hands.

She glanced over to see Daryl's hands clenching into fists atop his lap, the corner of his mouth twitching and his shoulders gone stiff. She didn't even want to try and imagine what _he_ was feeling right now.

"So what do we know about him?" She asked as Rick turned the monitor back around and began skimming through the file displayed on the screen. "Is that like, his whole record or whatever?"

"As much as the state of Georgia has on him, anyway," Rick replied, narrowed eyes set on the screen before him. He paused, leaning a bit closer and reading. "Says here he was brought in for questioning during the investigation into the Dixon fire—only 'cause he worked for the insurance company. Brought in all his coworkers, too. Apparently he had a solid alibi, they let him go an' never followed up."

"They didn't know he used to be drinking buddies with Will?" Beth asked.

Rick shook his head.

Daryl scoffed. "Typical."

Then Rick cleared his throat and said, "Good news, though, he wasn't walkin' free fer too long… Got arrested about seventeen years ago. Tried and convicted. Sentenced to 10 to 15 in a federal penitentiary."

"For what?" Beth and Daryl asked in unison.

Rick glanced up at them and hesitated, eyes flicking over to Daryl warily. Then he said, "Insurance fraud… and arson."

Beth couldn't help but gasp. She looked over at Daryl to see his face draining of color.

"That it?!" Merle remarked, audibly unimpressed. "So the dumb bastard got caught tryn'a make another deal like he did with my pa? _And_ he was stupid enough to use the same old worn-out method?"

She reworded the dead Dixon's question, trying to be optimistic, "As in, he got caught trying to burn up a house and make money off it…?"

Rick shook his head, frowning heavily. "Nah. He did more than _try_. He was, uh… originally booked for attempted murder, as well. He pled down to reckless endangerment—"

"_Pled down_? So he fuckin' snitched on somebody else?" Daryl guessed.

The sheriff shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe not."

"Who _cares_ about who he snitched on," Beth interjected. "He set another house on fire? Tried to _kill_ someone? _Again?_"

"Sounds like it," Rick said sadly. "Lemme see if I can dig up some more details…"

He looked back to the monitor and clicked his mouse a few times, tapping away on his keyboard for a moment. Then his eyes widened. He sighed.

"Not much news coverage on it," he said, his voice low. "But there was an inheritance involved, some kinda scam with a last-minute life and property insurance plan… The fire destroyed the house. Nearly killed two women—an elderly lady and her teenage granddaughter. Two arrests were made. They never released the names of the suspects to the public. Kept the victims' identities private, too."

"Jesus," Daryl muttered, his face still pale.

"Sounds like ol' Phil never learned his lesson," Merle remarked snidely.

Beth ignored him and asked Rick, "And where was this? Not here in Senoia, right?"

Rick shook his head, focused on the computer screen as he clicked his mouse here and there, skimming more news articles. "Nah. Fayetteville."

"Seriously?" She asked with raised eyebrows. "Barely half an hour away from his _first_ crime scene?"

The sheriff shrugged, scrubbing a hand down the side of his scruffy jaw and sighing. "Doesn't surprise me. He didn't even come close to gettin' caught the first time. Made him cocky. I see it all the time with criminals like this."

"Well," Daryl chimed in. "We know he had an accomplice. That must be who he sold out fer a plea bargain."

Rick shrugged again. "Possibly."

"When was he released from prison?" Beth asked.

"Uh," Rick squinted, clicking his mouse and checking before he responded. "Almost three years ago."

"You got anythin' else on him? Sum'n we can use to track him down?" Daryl inquired, the color beginning to return to his face as he leaned forward in his seat and gazed hopefully at the other man across the desk. "An address? A place he might be workin'? The name of his parole officer? _Anything?_"

"Sadly… no," Rick said, blue eyes flicking away from the screen to meet Daryl's. "His parole ended last year and he hasn't been mandated to report his current address or employment since then. My guess is he's layin' low, probably usin' his dead brother's name to stay under the radar. If he's got a job, he's pro'lly gettin' paid under the table. Might not be living anywhere. If he was smart, he woulda relocated outta state."

Merle snorted. "Think it's safe ta say he ain't the brightest bulb on the tree."

Beth smirked at that, shooting the dead Dixon a brief look of agreement. He cackled.

"Obviously he's not," Daryl said. "If he's lurkin' around here, plottin' murders an' shit. Fucker can't seem to stay away from King County."

Rick sighed. "Yeah, that's what I'm afraid of…" He trailed off and an expression of contemplation crossed his face, knitting his brows together. He slowly turned his attention from Daryl to Beth. "You, uh—is Merle still with us? Right now?"

She nodded, glancing pointedly to the other side of the room where Merle was currently leaning against the wall. "He has been the whole time. Why?"

"Ask 'im if he knew his dealer's last name," Rick instructed. "The Jesse guy."

Beth turned her head and looked at Merle expectantly, but he frowned and crossed his arms over his chest in a show of defiance. "Ask me yer fuckin' self, asshole! I'm dead, not _deaf_."

She rolled her eyes and turned back to Rick, grudgingly repeating, "He says he wants you to ask him yourself." She gave the sheriff the most apologetic expression she could manage.

But Rick just chuckled, shaking his head, and looked over towards the general area that Merle was occupying. He spoke louder as he asked, "Okay, Merle. What was yer dealer's last name? And are you sure Jesse was his _real_ first name?"

Merle smirked and stepped away from the wall, sounding all too pleased with himself. "Now that's more fuckin' like it." He jerked his chin towards the sheriff and sucked on his teeth, relishing in the acknowledgment for a long second. Then he said, "But uh, no. I never was much good with rememberin' names. Could barely 'member my own most'a the time, especially if Jesse was sellin' me the _good_ shit."

He laughed like it was a joke and Beth gritted her teeth in frustration. She wasn't sure why she'd expected anything else from him.

She turned and looked at him before asking, "Could you at least _try_ to remember?"

He scoffed. "What the hell for?"

She sighed. "Because, he could be in _danger_. What if The Governor is trackin' him down?"

He shrugged indifferently.

She managed to retain her composure despite the urge to tell him off for being so goddamn stupid and unhelpful. "Just _try_. Please. Don't you have the faintest idea what it could've been?"

Merle rolled his eyes in annoyance and shifted his weight from foot to foot. Then he said, "Fine. But only 'cause ya asked so nicely." He paused and looked upwards thoughtfully, rubbing his chin with one hand as though he were thinking really hard. "Uh… le'ssee—Jesse… Jesse B—no, that's not it." His licked his lips and squinted up at the ceiling, sounding out random letters. "Jesse Mee… nah, that don't sound right. Jesse Qua—no, Quee… shit. Jesse Puh—um, Pee…"

He shook his head and looked down, sighing. "Christ, I dunno, blondie. I _think_ it started with a P. He only told me one time, an' we were both high off our asses."

Beth quirked her mouth to the side and turned back to Rick, trying not to let her disappointment show too blatantly. "He can't remember, but he said he thinks it starts with a P."

Rick had been watching the exchange with wide eyes, but once she translated what she'd been told, his eyes grew wider. He looked to Daryl wordlessly, searching for confirmation.

Daryl merely shrugged. "Don't ask me, I barely knew the guy. Never bothered try'na learn anything about him."

The sheriff pursed his lips and, without speaking, turned to the computer and began typing and clicking once more. A moment later, he was turning the monitor so that Beth, Daryl, and Merle could all see it.

Displayed on the screen was another file in the same format as The Governor's, but the list of information was shorter and the mugshot was noticeably more recent. It was a skinny man with short blonde hair and round eyes, a hard scowl on his meth-scabbed face. The name below the photo read: _Jesse Pinkman_.

"This him?" Rick asked.

Merle snapped his fingers and took a step forward, eyes going wide as a grin spread across his mouth. "Shit, _yeah_! That's him! Pinkman? Yeah, that's right, I 'member now. Jesse _goddamn_ Pinkman. Sold the best crystal I ever smoked."

Beth nodded eagerly and repeated for Rick and Daryl, "Yeah, he says that's him. Definitely. Used to sell him meth."

Rick turned the monitor quickly back around and made a few clicks with his mouse, his face falling as he did so. He was frowning heavily when he turned the screen around for them to view it one more time.

There was a new photo displayed now: it was Jesse, but he looked different. Like he was sleeping. Beth quickly realized he wasn't; he was lying on a metal table with a crisp white sheet over his bare chest.

He was dead.

Daryl croaked out, "Fuck."

Merle gasped. "No fuckin' way—you shittin' me? He's _dead_?"

Rick looked from Daryl to Beth. Then he explained flatly, "He was murdered last week."

Beth blinked in awe. "You mean… the murder case you mentioned, the one here in Senoia?"

He nodded. "Yep. It's his. We found plenty of evidence, but we already ruled out all the possible suspects. Ain't had a lead in almost five days."

She asked the first thing that popped into her head: "Did you find his phone?"

Rick shook his head sadly. "We tried to track it, but whoever killed him must've taken it an' disabled it. Or destroyed it. Couldn't turn up so much as a trace."

"It was that Philip asshole," Daryl growled. "He went after Merle's dealer 'cause he's too _pussy_ to come after me first."

"Yeah," Rick agreed, turning his computer monitor back around and tapping a few keys. "Yer probably right. But we got no way to prove it. The Governor—_Philip_, whatever you wanna call him—knows how ta cover his tracks. Goes after the easiest targets… Jesse's body wasn't even found till at least three days after he was killed. Just like Merle. Nobody ever came by his place 'less they were lookin' for drugs or money. The only next of kin he's got lives clear down in New Mexico. Took another four days after we put him in the morgue 'fore we could get somebody ta come down an' confirm his identity."

"Son of a _bitch_!" Merle cried out, slashing his arm through the air angrily and stomping around in a huff. "I can't _believe_ that motherfucker killed my boy Jesse! He was good people, didn't never hurt nobody. Who the fuck does this guy think he _is_?! Goin' 'round, killin' anybody I hung out with! I'mma make this bastard pay, mark my fuckin' words…"

Beth ignored him and kept her attention on Daryl and Rick, the former of which was sitting quietly and chewing on his thumbnail, while the latter folded his hands atop the desk and gazed at them with a hint of forlorn in his eyes.

"So what's this mean?" Daryl muttered. "Now that ya know it was him, are y'all gonna track him down? Connect the evidence back to 'im so we can get him off the damn streets?"

Rick frowned, slowly shaking his head. "There's… nothin' we can do. _I _might know it was him, but I can't prove it in a court of law. Like I said, we ain't got any evidence to link him to the murder. He didn't leave any traces behind. An' if he did, they were destroyed by the time we got to the scene."

"Damn," Beth huffed out, shoulders sagging in defeat.

Merle was still pacing heatedly, grumbling under his breath and cursing Philip Blake's name to Hell.

Then Daryl chirped up, "Can ya do one more search in them records ya got?"

Rick shrugged. "I don't see why not. What're you thinkin'?"

Beth glanced over at the living Dixon and gave him a questioning look. He responded with a clipped nod before turning to Rick.

"Caesar Martinez," he said.

Rick's eyebrows rose. "Hell. I s'pose it wouldn't hurt to try."

He quickly tapped the search into his computer. A few more _click_s and _tap_s later, he hummed with intrigue.

"Huh, I didn't think he'd be easy ta track down… But here he is," the sheriff said, eyes glued to the screen before him while he scrolled with the mouse in his hand. "Lived in Fayetteville. Arrested—_shit_."

"What?" Beth asked, leaning forward in her chair.

Rick's eyes grew wide and he tore his gaze away from the screen. "Caesar Martinez was arrested the same week as Philip Blake. Tried and convicted within the same month. Sent to the same federal penitentiary."

Merle barked out a laugh, a mixture of triumph and surprise.

"No shit?" Daryl breathed out, stunned with disbelief.

"No shit," Rick assured. "Got fifteen _more_ years than Philip." He glanced back to the screen and frowned. "Bad news, though…"

"What can be bad about _that_?" Beth asked, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. She exchanged a look of satisfaction with Daryl: he'd been right about Philip selling out his accomplice in order to plead down to a lower charge. "We can go find him, talk to him—he must know _everything_ about The Governor! He must've been the accomplice that got thrown under the bus. Which means he'll prob'ly be _more_ than happy to talk to us. The Governor did him dirty and I bet he wants revenge."

"I agree, Beth," Rick said solemnly. "But don't get too excited just yet."

"Why not?" Daryl asked, growing impatient. "Don't tell me _he's_ fuckin' dead, too."

"Nah," the sheriff confirmed. He lowered his voice and finished, "He, uh… got transferred to another prison about five years ago. Out of state. And I don't have access to his current records."

Merle let out an aggravated yell, making Beth jump in her seat. She shot him a glare, but he ignored her, wringing his hands together and pacing back and forth wildly.

"Yer kiddin'," Daryl said flatly.

Rick shook his head, clearly disappointed. "Serious as a heart attack."

Beth slumped back in her seat and let out a long sigh.

"Just when I thought we might be getting somewhere," she mumbled.

"Can't ya make some calls?" Daryl asked. "Try to find out where Caesar was transferred? I know you got connections like that."

Rick sighed. "I can _try_, but I ain't gonna make any promises. I don't know many people in law enforcement outside of Georgia, let alone anybody that'd have access to current prison records. It's a whole separate system."

Beth straightened her back and tried to force some optimism into her voice. "Well, we still have the insurance company to visit tomorrow—right?"

Rick nodded and pointed at her to emphasize his agreement. "Right. Let's not forget that."

"Yeah, but what're the odds they'll know anything about Philip if he ain't worked there in damn near twenty years?" Daryl said.

"We won't know till we try," Beth quipped.

"She's right," Rick agreed, turning to Daryl. "We could catch a lucky break an' run into somebody who's worked there since before the company was bought out, or maybe even somebody who heard some shit through the grapevine. There could be a whole 'nother lead waitin' for us there. But we won't know till we try. Can't go throwin' our hands up in surrender just yet."

Daryl grunted in dissatisfaction and crossed his arms over his chest, his brotherly resemblance to Merle almost shocking to Beth for a second. He shook his head and said, "This is such bullshit. Feels like we got a damn shortcut sittin' right in front of us, but we're off takin' every other detour instead."

Beth's mind was racing with all the new information, piecing it together inside her head moment by moment. She couldn't help but think, _But Morgan didn't say anything about talking to some guy in a prison. He saw the cabin, Rick's future wife, an invitation to a Halloween party, and some blonde woman that isn't me._

She lowered her voice and spoke directly to Daryl, "Remember what the Swamp Witch told us, Daryl—he didn't say anything about visiting a guy in prison. He saw…" She trailed off, glancing warily at Rick. She didn't want to mention his 'future wife' for fear that it would screw up the foretelling.

Daryl understood all the same. His eyes lit up and he stared back at her quizzically for a brief moment, then the memory seemed to dawn on him. He sat up straight and uncrossed his arms. "Said he saw us talkin' to some blonde lady." He must've interpreted her silent message and agreed that they shouldn't talk about Rick's 'future wife' aloud.

She nodded, and they both turned to look at the sheriff expectantly.

Rick raised his eyebrows, intrigued by the mention of the Swamp Witch he'd been told about. He leaned forward a bit. "Blonde lady…?" His blue eyes flicked over to settle on Beth. "And he wasn't talkin' about you?"

She and Daryl both replied, "Nope."

Rick's eyes widened and he leaned back in his chair, scrubbing a hand across the scruff on his cheek. "Well, shit… the only blonde lady I can think of that'd have any pertinence to this case is… aw, hell. I'ono how she could be _any_ help at this point."

"Who?" Beth asked, urging him to continue with a persistent look. Daryl mirrored her expression.

Rick let out a deep breath and said, "The judge that Merle slept with."

"Oh, _c'mon_!" Merle cried out, throwing his hands into the air. "Don't go trackin' down my fuckin' booty calls! This shit ain't called for!"

Beth whipped her head around and glared at him, blurting out, "Back at Morgan's cabin, you said you had _no idea_ who the blonde woman could be—so now you suddenly remember? How _convenient_."

Merle rolled his eyes and waved her off dismissively. "When the hell you gonna learn that my memory ain't what it used ta be? You know how many fuckin' brain cells I drank an' smoked away before I died, princess? I don't get 'em back after death, ya know. Ain't how it _works_."

"Obviously," she muttered, turning back to Rick and finding him watching her with a perplexed look on his face.

"And how the fuck is _she_ gonna be any help?" Merle continued. "That broad don't know shit about me 'sides my criminal record." Then he snickered. "Well, I take that back—she sure knows how to suck a dick."

Beth grimaced and tried to ignore him.

"Y'all think she could have some information that she didn't give me?" Rick asked.

Beth and Daryl shrugged.

Beth replied, "We won't know unless we talk to her."

"If you covered her ass fer screwin' Merle, I'd be willin' to bet she's got _somethin'_ for us," Daryl surmised. "He had a habit of runnin' his mouth to the chicks he hooked up with. I'm sure she left some details out, only told ya what you _wanted_ to hear. 'Specially if she was afraid it'd cost her job."

Rick quirked an eyebrow, intrigued. "Decent point ya make there. I reckon it'd be worth lookin' into."

"You still got her number?" Daryl asked.

Rick frowned. "Ain't talked to her since shortly after Will's death, but yeah, I still got her number. Even if I can't reach her that way, I'm sure I can track her down pretty easy."

"This is bullshit!" Merle exclaimed, frustration audible in his tone. "Jesse's _dead_ an' y'all wanna waste yer time trackin' down some bitch I fucked?! Are you _retarded_?!"

Beth sighed, all the exhaustion from her long day of lying and dealing with the dead Dixon catching up to her very suddenly and making her blood boil. She snapped back at him, "Shut the hell up, we're—"

But she couldn't finish her rebuttal before Merle was letting out a furious yell and grabbing the file cabinet that sat in the corner of Rick's office, shoving it over with all his strength and anger. It tipped and toppled to the floor, filling the room with a loud _cling claaaang!_ that resounded as the shelves rattled and numerous files full of paper spilled from the drawers.

Rick leapt to his feet while Daryl and Beth jumped in surprise, and they all turned to stare at the overturned file cabinet with wide eyes.

Merle's face was bright red and he pointed a finger at Beth, his other hand clenched into a fist at his side. "If you don't start fucking listenin' to me, yer gonna end up gettin' my brother _killed_! And I swear to fuckin' _God_, Beth Greene, if Daryl dies, you'll _never_ find a moment of fucking _peace_ in this world!"

She jumped up to her feet and opened her mouth to argue back, but he promptly flickered and disappeared, red face and clenched fist and all. She spun around to find Rick staring at the toppled file cabinet with a frown.

"What the fuck was _that_ all about?" Daryl asked.

Beth shook her head, speaking to Rick, "I'm sorry, Merle got mad again, I—"

"What the _fuck_, Merle?!" Daryl exclaimed, looking towards the general area where Merle had been.

"He disappeared," she quickly explained. "Threw a fit and left."

"_Again?_" Daryl scoffed. "Dumb son of a—"

Rick put up a hand to stop them. "Don't worry about it. Just…" He sighed and put his hands on his hips. "Maybe we should call it a day."

Daryl stood up from his chair eagerly and nodded to Beth, silently agreeing with the sheriff.

Beth sighed, her frustration slowly ebbing away. "Yeah, we should. It's been a long one."

* * *

Rick walked Beth and Daryl out of the Sheriff's Department, making plans to contact them the next day and arrange their visit to the insurance company. He also promised he'd look into contacting Merle's former judge, the mysterious blonde woman.

Beth thanked the sheriff profusely, offering to clean up the mess Merle had made, but Rick just waved her off with a smile and assured her it was fine and that he understood, explaining how he'd make Shane clean it up as payback for getting a half-day of work. Daryl laughed at that and agreed that it was only fair, also offering his abashed thanks to Rick for all the help he'd given them. Rick told the living Dixon to be careful and "watch himself," that he wasn't so sure the coughing fit in Atlanta was solely the work of a demon and that he thought Daryl should probably make an appointment with a doctor. Daryl nodded begrudgingly but didn't argue, though Beth could see the disagreement on his face.

Nonetheless, they shook Rick's hand in the parking lot and offered more thanks before bidding him goodnight. Then Beth was slipping on her helmet and climbing onto the back of Daryl's motorcycle, wrapping her arms around his middle as he started it up. The engine rumbled and vibrated beneath them, and Beth briefly wondered where Merle had run off to this time.

But a few minutes later, once the wind was whipping past her helmet and her body was pressed close against Daryl's back, all thoughts of the dead (and infuriatingly obnoxious) Dixon had fled her mind. She distracted herself with the sensation of the motorcycle beneath her, the way Daryl leaned left and right to steer them and the way she leaned with him. She reflexively tightened her grasp around him, but he didn't seem to mind. In fact, she thought he might've been leaning back into her every now and then. Though she was almost certain it was just her imagination.

She looked out and watched the blur of green pastures and barbwire fences as they sped down the road, smiling to herself when she saw a stray cow or horse grazing on dying grass. The sun was sinking lower and lower towards the horizon, a late October chill piggybacking on the breeze and beginning to settle across the Georgia countryside.

When they passed an intersection of dirt roads just a few miles away from the farm, she glanced out and watched the winding right turn disappear behind them. She thought about her mama's memorial: how happy her dad had looked, how busy Maggie had kept herself, how many tears had been shed by everyone in attendance. This morning already felt like forever ago.

And—_shit_. Now that she was thinking about it, she remembered how she'd been meaning to gather a beautiful bouquet of wildflowers to leave at Annette's grave. Like she did every year. And she'd been interrupted by Merle, then promptly distracted by finding Daryl and tracking down the Swamp Witch and investigating the murder. And now the memorial was over and she still hadn't picked so much as one flower. She hadn't paid her proper respects. Dammit.

If she were being honest with herself, she needed to visit Annette's grave for more than one reason. Not only to pay her respects, but also to let herself feel that pain again. To feel that connection she couldn't seem to find otherwise, even while standing in her mama's beloved garden or sitting in her favorite chair or reading her favorite book. There was just something about her mother's final resting place that offered Beth… _peace_. A peace she couldn't get anywhere else. She knew it was just a grave—it wasn't like that was where her mama _really_ was—but it still meant something to her. And to Maggie. To all of them. It was something that made Annette Greene feel more _real_. More present. LIke maybe she was listening from wherever she was resting.

Daryl let off the gas and slowed as they approached the long driveway of the farmhouse. Beth loosened her grasp around his middle and leaned back a bit, gazing up at the house. The porchlight was on, in preparation of the coming sunset, and nearly all the windows were lit up from the inside. She looked out towards the yard and the barn, searching for signs of Hershel or Shawn or Maggie. But it was about dinner time, so she figured they were all inside, eating and conversing.

Daryl stopped a bit farther from the back porch than before, kicking down the kickstand and planting both feet on either side of the bike while Beth pulled off her helmet and dismounted.

He was still gripping the handlebars when she shoved the helmet into one of the bags hanging off the side and took a step back. She offered him a shy smile and glanced around, checking for signs of Merle or her family. But it seemed that she and Daryl were alone outside. At least for the time being.

He spoke up over the idle rumble of the motorcycle, "Alright, Greene. See ya tomorrow?"

She nodded, smiling a little wider and talking louder than usual so he could hear her. "Yup. Thanks for the ride."

He shrugged. "Don't mention it." She saw his eyes shoot towards the farmhouse, an almost wary glance at the windows and doors. Then he cleared his throat and met her eyes. "Y'think Merle's gonna leave ya alone fer the night? After his little hissy fit?"

She smirked and said, "I hope so. It's awfully peaceful without him buzzin' in my ear."

Daryl grunted and flashed a crooked smile. "'M sure it is." Then his eyes flicked downwards, hands resituating on the handlebars as he worried his lower lip. He raised his head and met her curious gaze once more. "What'cha gonna do fer the rest of the night? Without that asshole drivin' ya nuts, I mean."

Beth's smirk grew into a bashful smile and she fiddled absent-mindedly with the strap of her purse. She answered honestly, "Um, I was actually thinkin' about takin' a long walk. Maybe down to the cemetery."

He furrowed his brow. "The cemetery? Ain't that miles away?"

She shrugged. "'S only a couple miles." She'd already decided after they passed the intersection. A long walk might clear her head, give her time to think over everything they'd learned so far. Or just give her time to _think_, period. "And it's nice out, so why not."

He chewed the inside of his cheek for a second before he said, "Yeah, it's nice out. But that's a pretty long walk."

"Well," she said indifferently. "I've done it lots of times before. It's not so long."

He paused, hesitant. Then he asked, "That where yer mama's buried?"

Beth nodded, her lips pressing together tightly.

Daryl turned his head and looked up at the farmhouse, blue eyes narrowing for a second. He gripped the handlebars a little tighter and looked back to Beth.

"Wanna ride?"

A smile curled her lips before she could stop it, her stomach fluttering. "It's a nice offer, but you don't have to do that."

He frowned. "I know. But I want to." He paused again. Then he added, "If it's all the same to you."

At that, she glanced over towards the farmhouse. Still no sign of her family. She wasn't sure they even knew she was outside. Which was fine with her.

How could she turn down such a generous offer?

She met his hopeful gaze and smiled. "Alright, Dixon. If you _insist_."

He smiled back and she giggled while stepping over and retrieving the helmet she'd just put away, slipping it onto her head. And moments later, she had her arms wrapped around Daryl and the vibration of the engine rattling through her entire body again, speeding away from the farmhouse and down the dirt road.

But this time, they had a different destination in mind. And she could only pray that it would remain free of Merle's presence.

**to be continued… **


	43. Just Two Friends, Chillin' in a Cemetery

**Just Two Friends, Chillin' in a Cemetery…**

There wasn't much of a gate around the cemetery. There never had been. It was rusted with age and rain, easy to miss due to the small size of the graveyard. It only occupied a few acres, set back a ways from the road. The tiny wooden shack that served as the registry office and caretaker's shed sat smack dab in the middle of the property, run-down and decrepit looking even in the light of the evening sun.

Daryl slowed the bike, riding no more than 5 mph down the barely-trodden gravel path as they passed through the entrance. Iron letters formed a sign above them that read: _Senoia Baptist Cemetery_. The sun had already sunk just below the trees, their lush canopies and thick trunks offering a blanket of shade from where they bordered the acres of gravestones.

Beth let out a long breath and looked around, taking in the familiar sight. Stones and statues formed a scattered skyline that almost resembled some sort of melancholy city. Shadows stretched across dying grass, late October sunlight casting an ominous glow over cement and marble and wilting flowers.

She hadn't visited since last year, but it always looked the same. Maybe a little more weathered, a little more worn, but it was always the same dead people buried in their graves; always the same markers, the same names carved into stone. Never moving, never changing. Never aging.

This would be her someday, she reminded herself. She would be lying here, buried beneath several feet of earth, silent and unmoving for the rest of eternity. But would her soul be trapped in Hell with Papa Legba, like he'd threatened? Or would she finally get to see her mama again?

She directed Daryl silently, using one hand to instruct him where to turn along the maze of a gravel path that wound through the whole cemetery. He followed where she pointed and eventually, she instructed him to stop. He did. She began to dismount while he silenced the engine and put down the kickstand.

She rested her helmet on the back of the seat and stepped forward, crossing from the gravel into the yellow and green grass. She could hear Daryl dismounting the bike behind her, his boots crunching over pebbles. But she kept walking forward, her eyes set on the gravestone that sat several feet away, and he stopped somewhere behind her.

Annette Greene's cemetery plot was set between the plots of two prominent and well-off families, their markers much larger and more intricate, with photos of the smiling deceased plastered to the stones that designated their graves. There was one empty plot beside Annette's, unmarked and already purchased by Hershel. It was where they'd be burying him when his time finally came, Beth knew. Right beside their mama. Where he wanted to be.

Until then, all they had was the modest headstone for her that they'd been able to purchase. They couldn't afford the fancy picture like the families beside her, nor the long and intricate engravings of full Bible verses. But it was nice all the same. At least Beth thought so.

She approached the familiar grave with slow and measured steps. It rose up maybe six inches from the ground, rectangular and solid and heavy. There was a simple cross engraved at the top, right above her mother's name.

_Annette Lynn Greene  
September 23rd, 1966 — October 18th, 2012  
Beloved Mother & Wife  
"Death is swallowed up in Victory."_

The late Greene matriarch's grave had already received several visitors throughout the week. Beth could tell because there were a few bouquets laid out, barely wilted. One small bunch of flowers had been placed in the cement vase beside the headstone, and it looked the freshest of all. She could only assume it had been put there by her daddy or Maggie or Shawn, or maybe all of them. She hadn't come out here with anyone else in a few years.

She wasn't sure why, but lately, she preferred to visit alone. Sometimes she liked to talk to her mom, pretending Annette could somehow hear her better from here. Even though she knew that wasn't true.

She had no plans of speaking aloud today. Even if Daryl hadn't come along with her. All the things she'd learned in the past week were beginning to change her perspective. Because if she could speak to the dead anywhere, why should it mean more out here? Standing six feet above the decomposing body? She knew now, for certain, where her mama had gone. Morgan had more or less confirmed that fact for her. And if Annette _was_ listening—from wherever she resided beyond The Veil—she wouldn't be listening any more or less just because Beth was standing at her grave.

No, her soul was free now. Resting in eternal paradise. Or maybe taking a break before being recycled back out into the world, fresh and new. Either way, the corpse settled so lovingly in its casket underground no longer held any trace of Annette Greene.

Just look at Merle… he was in ashes, scattered across the Georgia countryside. Yet he hadn't _really _gone anywhere. Everything that made him Merle was still floating around Earth, cussing and yelling and stirring up all kinds of trouble. Which led Beth to believe that everything that had ever truly been Annette was somewhere else. Hopefully watching. Hopefully happy.

"You want me to leave you alone?"

Daryl's voice startled Beth from her thoughts and she looked back to find him standing just a few steps away from his bike, paused and watching her tensely, chewing on his thumbnail.

"No," she said, offering him a weak smile. "It's okay. I just…" She glanced back to the headstone, her smile fading. "I meant to bring some flowers out for her, like I do every year. But I kinda got uh, _distracted_."

"Oh," he grunted. His tone indicated that he knew what she meant—she'd been distracted by Merle, of course. And the whole Dixon conundrum that she was stuck in the middle of. He looked around curiously, shaking the shaggy hair out of his eyes as his gaze drifted out to the edge of the cemetery. Then he began to walk away with a purposeful stride, tossing her a brief, "Hol' on."

She watched him curiously as he half-jogged between headstones, headed towards the treeline at one side of the cemetery. He disappeared for only a moment, and when he emerged from the trees, he was holding a bunch of wildflowers in his hands.

Beth could feel her cheeks turning bright pink as he approached. But when he stopped an arm's reach away from her, holding out the last-minute arrangement of wildflowers for her to take, she couldn't stop the smile that spread across her face. She took them gingerly, holding them up to her nose and taking in a deep breath of the sweet scent. Then she looked up at him, still smiling wide.

"They're beautiful," she said. "Thank you, Daryl."

He shrugged like it was no big deal, quickly shoving his hands into his pockets. She wasn't sure if his ears were red from the sun or from something else. He grunted out a brief, "Ain't nothin'."

Her smile remained while she leaned down and carefully placed the flowers atop the headstone. She ran a fingertip along the etchings, then stood back up and gazed down at the newly added arrangement. How it made all the other flowers pale in comparison.

She couldn't remember the last time she'd come out here and _smiled_. The last time she'd visited her mama without crying. She didn't even _feel_ like crying right now.

In fact, she just felt… really peaceful.

"'S a nice stone," Daryl remarked, his voice soft and quiet, drifting into her ears on the gentle breeze that ruffled her hair. "This is a real nice place."

Beth looked over at him with gratitude. "Thanks. I think so, too. We couldn't afford as nice of a headstone as she deserved, but we made do."

He grunted. "Y'can tell she was loved. That's all that matters."

Her heart skipped and she was smiling again. "Yeah… Good point."

He gestured towards the words engraved on the headstone and asked, "Is that from the Bible or somethin'?"

She nodded. "Yeah. Corinthians. It was one of her favorites." She paused and licked her lips before reciting, "_So when this corruptible shall have put on incorruption, and this mortal shall have put on immortality, then shall be brought to pass the saying that is written: Death is swallowed up in Victory._"

He hummed in understanding and remarked, "Sounds like somethin' from _Harry Potter_."

She chuckled. "It does, doesn't it?" Then she shrugged. "It's basically about how all the pain we go through in life will be worth it in the end, because we'll get to join God's Kingdom, and Christ's love for us will be a sort of victory for everyone who serves Him."

"Yeah," he grunted. "I get it."

She looked over at him with a slightly quizzical expression and a crooked smile. "Gotta admit, I didn't take you fer a _Harry Potter _fan, Dixon."

He rolled his eyes, but he was smirking. "Wouldn't say I'm a _fan_. I've only read a couple of the books. My roommate's kid loves 'em."

Beth giggled. "Oh, I see."

Daryl's shoulders stiffened and he shoved his hands a little deeper into his pockets, shifting his weight from one foot to the other somewhat awkwardly.

She looked back to the headstone, watching the breeze rustle the petals and leaves of the fresh wildflowers. A moment passed in silence while she gazed down thoughtfully, her smile fading. Daryl was gazing down at it too, chewing on his lower lip.

She wasn't sure how many more moments passed like that, but she couldn't say she particularly cared. She was enjoying the peace, reminiscing on a thousand different memories of her mother inside her head.

And when she spoke, she wasn't sure that she'd actually intended to speak aloud. If she did, she wasn't sure why. It wasn't like she thought Daryl really gave a crap. Lord knew he already had enough of his own grief and deceased loved ones to remember and mourn for.

But he'd come out here with her, hadn't he? He'd offered to give her a ride, and then he'd picked a bunch of wildflowers at the last minute. He was standing here. He was listening. So maybe he gave a _little bit_ of a crap.

Even if he didn't… it just felt respectful to say something. To make him less of a stranger to this place that meant so much, to this woman that had _been _so much. He would never have the pleasure of meeting her, and vise versa. But Beth could still tell him about her. And she could still wonder, silently and longingly, what her mama would think of Daryl Dixon.

"She was a good mom. A _really_ good mom… a good person. I know I got lucky with both my parents. With my family and my home life. And I know there's lots of good moms out there, and I'd never try an' claim she was perfect. 'Cause nobody's perfect. But she was… I dunno. She was _special_."

A knot formed in her throat and she swallowed past it.

"'Course she was," he mumbled. "She was yer mama. Ya only ever get the one."

Beth huffed out a soft laugh, though there were tears pooling in her eyes. She stared down at the headstone and the wildflowers.

Another moment passed in silence and she could hear Daryl shifting his weight uncomfortably. Clearing his throat.

Then he said, "Sorry. I didn't mean…"

His voice trailed off and she assured him, "No, don't be sorry. I know what you meant. And you're right."

She could see his stance relaxing ever so slightly from the corner of her eye. He started chewing on his thumbnail again and she wondered if there was anything left to be chewed. His fingers must be bloody and raw by now.

She sighed and went on, "She was just… a really good woman. That's what my daddy always called her. He used to say, _'a good woman is hard to find, but luckily, your mama found me.'_" She smirked at the recollection, briefly longing for the days when Hershel would boast wildly about how wonderful his wife was, how he'd already given up on finding love after Maggie's mom because he'd been '_too old_,' how he didn't deserve her and couldn't figure out what he'd done to be blessed with her unconditional love. "And I… I dunno. I guess I just thought it'd _always_ be like that. I had this idea in my head that my parents would live to be like, a hundred years old. That they'd die peacefully in their sleep. No suffering. No pain. No wasted moments."

The tears were back, gathering at the corners of her eyes, threatening to escape and roll down her cheeks. She sniffled and tried to force them away.

"I was so… _stupid_. And naive."

Daryl grunted. He spoke softly, "Weren't yer fault. That's what everybody wants. Doesn't make you stupid. Not like there was any reason ya should've expected anything different."

Beth frowned and turned her head to look at him, brow furrowed. "I'm sorry I got so freaked out today. When you had that—uh, that _coughing fit_ in the city. It just really scared me."

He simply shrugged. "Freaked me out, too. Demons are pretty wild. Can't blame ya for gettin' scared."

She fidgeted with the strap of her purse, watching him warily. "Yeah, but… it wasn't even the demon aspect. As screwed up as it sounds, realizing that it was just a warning from Papa Legba kinda… I dunno. Made it _less _scary. For a second, I really thought—"

He narrowed his eyes as she spoke and interjected, "Ya thought I had cancer or sum'n? Like I might be as sick as yer mama was?"

She pursed her lips and nodded, ashamed. "It's stupid." She turned and quickly looked back to the headstone. She mumbled, "I'm just bein' paranoid, expecting the worst—I mean, it's a literal _demon_, yet I'm lettin' myself get worried about _cancer_." She shook her head and scoffed.

He let out a _hmph_. Then he said, "Stop. 'S not stupid. An' you know it. Ya learned a lesson about bein' naive, learned how to be strong… in the worst way, sure. But ya learned it all the same." He paused before adding, "Word around town was yer mama didn't know she was sick till it was too late. I reckon that's a lot scarier than some sketchy demon sendin' messages through loogies."

_Damn small towns,_ Beth thought. But then again, what did it matter? Her mother's diagnosis and eventual death was certainly no secret. It was inevitable that he'd have heard about it.

She just didn't like the idea of Daryl learning things about her family from people who were not her family. She didn't want his second-hand pity. Didn't want him to view her as some kind of charity case from the get-go.

Not that it mattered. He already knew about her little "attempt." If he was going to pity her, surely he would've started doing so way back in Morgan's cabin, right? Yet she didn't feel like he looked at her any differently since learning the truth about her scarred wrist. In fact, she'd been pleasantly surprised by his understanding thus far.

Even now, he was offering empathy. For something that seemed so much less severe than the circumstances that surrounded his own mother's death. But he wasn't comparing, or belittling her grief. He was just… listening. And empathizing.

She took in a deep breath and listened to her own heartbeat thumping against the breeze. Stared down at her mama's name engraved in the headstone.

Then she exhaled slowly and said, "It's not like I _knew_ that all those people I saw as a kid were _dead_ people… but it was still scary whenever they'd come begging me for help. I never knew what to do. I always felt helpless. And lost. But I could ignore it, and eventually, it'd go away. _They _would go away." She paused, swallowing past a knot that was beginning to form in her throat, fighting back more tears. "Then she got sick. I still remember like it was yesterday: we were sittin' at the kitchen table. Having breakfast. She never drank coffee, just tea. Never smoked a day in her life. Only drank wine once a year—at Christmas. And we were sittin' there, just talking. She was drinking her tea. Daddy was drinking his coffee. Me and Maggie and Shawn were eating our pancakes, and me an' Shawn were arguing about something; I don't even remember what it was, but I know it was dumb. We shouldn't have been fighting. Mama begged us not to fight almost every day, but we never listened. So she tried to intervene, told us to stop fightin' and just _love _each other. Then she started coughing and—and she just couldn't stop. Daddy got real mad. He started yelling at us, sayin' we sent her into a fit an' all our arguing was making her sick. But she… she didn't _stop_. She kept coughing till she couldn't breathe. The next thing we knew, there was blood all over her hands. All over the table. And she just. kept. _coughing_."

Beth blinked back a fresh wave of tears, but it was no use. Two stray drops rolled freely down her cheeks, and she hastily wiped them away with one hand. Then she sniffled and, sensing Daryl's tense stance and bated breath, went on.

"We had to drive her to the ER 'cause an ambulance would've cost too much. And I remember hearin' my dad crying in the waiting room, 'cause our insurance didn't cover all the tests the doctors wanted to do—but we _had _to get the tests. _All_ of 'em. He said he had to tap into our college funds. And he just kept apologizing, saying he shouldn't have retired so early, saying he _failed_ us, but…" She trailed off and shook her head, pausing and taking a breath before continuing. "Then we had to wait fer _hours_ in that awful hospital room… just so the doctor could come in and tell us that she had cancer. _Lung_ cancer. Stage three. Metastatic. Which meant it was basically hopeless… The cancer cells had spread before we even knew they _existed_."

She inhaled deeply through her nose, stiffening her spine. That day replayed inside her head on a loop, dark and torturous and painful.

"They said there was hope since she was only stage three. Said we could do chemo. Radiation. Some new experimental drug that might work—_if _she qualified for the trials. But I overheard the doctor talking to one of the nurses in the hallway… he didn't know I was there. If he had, I don't think he would've said it. 'Cause he said my mom's whole body was a _'ticking timebomb_._' _He called her a _'dead woman walking.'_ And that's when I knew she wouldn't live to be a hundred. Wouldn't live to be fifty. I knew she wouldn't even live to see me graduate high school."

Daryl exhaled a long sigh and muttered, "Jesus."

Beth shrugged, glancing over at him for no more than a second. "Honestly, I wish he would've said it to our faces. I wish all those doctors and nurses would've told us the truth. The false hope we had only made it all that much more painful. There was nothin' we could really do besides make her comfortable and make every last minute count." She tried not to sound terribly bitter, but it was difficult. The edge arose in her voice as she recounted the deep regret that still haunted her, eyes glued to the headstone. "But we wasted a lot of it with pointless treatments and medicines that didn't do anything except make her more sick. She was so… _miserable_ in her last days. And she didn't have to be. I watched her cough up so much blood and mucus and—and she _loved_ her hair. It was one of the things that made her who she was. She just took so much pride in it. She taught me how to do _all _the different styles of braiding, and I grew my hair long because I wanted it to be as pretty as hers. And in the end, she lost it all. She died bald. Skinny. Sad. She hated every moment of it. But she stayed strong through _everything_… for us. She loved us so much that she couldn't _stand _to see us sad. Even when she was dying."

Beth didn't even realize she was crying until she looked over and saw the somber expression on Daryl's face through water-blurred eyes. The deep frown. The forlorn shadow in his azure orbs.

She quickly swiped a hand across her face, wiping the tears away, and cracked a smile.

"Shit," she muttered, choked up, trying to appear indifferent. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get all emotional an' start _crying_, or—"

But the rest of her words caught in her throat and stayed there when he suddenly reached out and grasped her hand. He squeezed it, intertwining their fingers and letting their arms hang loosely between them. She watched his adam's apple bob up and down as he swallowed thickly, but his lips were pressed tight together.

He gave a gentle nod of his head and she understood. She reciprocated with a weak smile of gratitude.

_I get it, _he seemed to say. Without having to say anything at all. She could feel it in the grasp of his palm, in the way he gazed back at her with oceanic depths.

They let the silence fall over them for a minute or two. Then he said, "Don't worry 'bout me, alright? Not my _physical_ body. Let's jus' focus on savin' my soul fer now."

_For now? _She thought. _And then what?_

But she just nodded and hummed in agreement. She gave his hand a light squeeze.

She didn't _want_ to think about Papa Legba's threats. His promise that she would suffer the loss of Daryl just as she'd suffered the loss of her mother. But she couldn't avoid it. That dream was still prevalent in her mind, heavy on her conscience. The centuries old demon's words remained at the forefront of her concerns.

She had to remember what the Bible had taught her, though; what her mom and dad had taught her, the faith they'd instilled within her over several years. All the storms that the journey of her grief had already brought her through.

_Death is swallowed up in Victory._

Legba was bluffing. He was all threats and cold laughter. She was stronger than that. _Daryl _was stronger than that. She knew, because she'd _seen_. At this point, she was almost convinced that Daryl would be the last man standing, no matter the circumstance. Even if it pissed Papa Legba off—_especially_ if it pissed Papa Legba off.

He was just like his brother in that sense.

"Thanks for bringin' me out here," she said. "And… bein' here."

Daryl shrugged, glancing away from her and down at the headstone. "Figured I oughta pay my respects."

"Well, you didn't have to," Beth said. "But I appreciate that you did anyway."

She paused and gauged his reaction from the corner of her eye, gently squeezing his hand. He squeezed back.

Then she added, "I wish she coulda met you. She would've liked you."

His eyes flicked up and caught hers through shagging strands of dark hair, the corner of his mouth twitching in surprise. He grunted. "Ya think so, huh?"

She couldn't help but let out a quiet chuckle. "I _know_ so."

"Well, I didn't know her, but it sounds like she'd be real proud of ya." He went back to gazing at the headstone as he mumbled bashfully, "Yer a good woman, Beth. Like yer mama."

She had to swallow back a lump in her throat, fighting a fresh wave of tears.

And even though she knew he _got it_, knew that he already understood without having to say it… she _wanted_ to say it. She needed to make sure he _knew_. That he _knew _how much she actually cared, how inevitable the worry was, how much he already meant to her. How far she was willing to go in order to ensure the safety of his soul. Ghosts and demons be damned.

But what if it weirded him out? What if she was crossing some sort of boundary? Was this relationship supposed to be strictly professional? Did he only see her as the girl who could talk to his dead brother? Or—

_Fuck it, _she thought.

"Daryl, I—I really care about you. And that means I'm gonna worry about you, whether you like it or not. I know this is all pretty weird, the circumstances an' all, but I… well, I consider you a _friend_. And friends look out for each other. They do everything they can to help each other. They _worry_ about each other. So that's what I'm gonna do."

She tried to sound as matter-of-fact as possible, but her voice cracked regardless. She stiffened when he slowly turned his head, giving her the most curious look. But he quickly looked away again, and she thought his ears might've been turning pink, though it could've just been the way the sun was shining through the trees and setting his skin aglow.

Then she felt him squeeze her hand, and he cleared his throat and said, "Yeah. Me, too."

Her stomach fluttered and her heart skipped. She pursed her lips.

"You really think I don't give a shit about ya?" He asked quietly. Almost pained.

"I dunno," she answered honestly. "You're not exactly the easiest person to read."

She could see him smirking through the strands of hair that hung over his face. "So I've been told."

"It's not like I expect you to," she added. "I mean… you don't _have_ to. Care about me. Or consider me a friend."

He turned his head and finally met her shy gaze. "We been through a helluva lotta crazy shit the past week. But I don't know many folks who'd be takin' it all in stride like you have, Greene. Or folks who'd actually try an' keep my head on straight, even when I'm bein' kind of a dick."

She smiled at that.

He shifted his weight and concluded, "Shit… _'Course_ we're friends. Reckon it ain't sum'n that needs to be said, is it?"

Beth's stomach was fluttering wildly now, and she knew her cheeks were flushing pink, but she couldn't say she cared. Maybe he would just think it was from the chill of the wind.

"No, I 'spose not," she agreed, her smile growing wide. "I just wanted to make sure we were on the same page."

"A redneck an' a psychic, 'member?" He teased.

She giggled and said, "You're not a _redneck_, Daryl. You're just a guy."

"And yer not a psychic—yer just _Gifted_."

They shared a laugh and, for a split-second, Beth wondered if it was _wrong_ to be laughing in front of her mother's grave.

But before she could give it any contemplation, a chill ran down her spine. A familiar shadow flickered across her periphery. She whipped her head around and gazed over towards the caretaker's shack. She thought she saw a wisp of smoke, but it faded away within a beam of late evening sun before she could be sure.

"We should go," she said.

"Y'ready?" Daryl asked.

Beth looked over at him with a frown. "I think Merle's back."

His face fell and he nodded towards the bike. "Alrigh'. Let's get you back home."

**to be continued… **


	44. How To Train Your Poltergeist

**How To Train Your Poltergeist**

Beth and Daryl pulled up to her house just as the sun was beginning to disappear behind the horizon. He stopped the bike halfway down the driveway and silenced the engine. When she dismounted and took off her helmet, she found him gazing up at the brightly lit windows of the farmhouse somewhat warily.

She tucked the helmet into its bag and stepped back, clearing her throat to get his attention.

"Don't worry, I'm not gonna ask you to come in," she said teasingly, a smile on her face. "I think my family's embarrassed me enough for one day."

He snorted and pulled one hand off the handlebars to rest it atop his thigh. "They're not embarrassing. They care about ya."

She noted his lack of a smirk and her smile faltered. "Yeah, they do. I was just kiddin'."

"I know," he mumbled, stroking his chin hair awkwardly. He glanced away and said, "Jus' don't want 'em gettin' the wrong idea 'bout me."

"The wrong idea?" She repeated, a bit perplexed.

He shrugged and wrapped his hand around the handlebar once more, leaning forward on the motorcycle. "Forget it. You want me to text ya tomorra? Whenever Rick lets me know what the plan is?"

She wanted to ask him what he'd meant, but his body language and the tone of his voice told her that he wanted to drop it. For now, at least. So she simply nodded.

"Yeah. That sounds good."

There was an awkward silence, then Daryl glanced around and asked, "He back yet?"

She shrugged indifferently. "Probably. I'm sure I'll find out once I get to my room. He likes to pop up and scare me."

She'd hoped for a small smirk or even a snort of amusement, but all she got was a grunt. Then he started up the bike rather abruptly and gave her a clipped nod.

"See ya tomorrow," he said, speaking up over the rumble of the bike.

She offered him a warm smile regardless and nodded back. "Drive safe, Daryl."

A moment later, he was speeding down the driveway, slowing just long enough to turn onto the road before zipping off once more. Beth watched him until he crested the hill and disappeared over the other side. She let out a deep sigh and turned to walk up to the house.

She was replaying the past hour over and over in her head, trying to make sense of the human puzzle that was Daryl Dixon. But he was so hot and cold—holding her hand in front of her mother's grave one minute, then brushing her off like he was uncomfortable with her presence the next.

Maybe she was just reading too much into it. Maybe she just hadn't made a new friend in so freaking long that she no longer knew _how_.

That was a pretty sad thought. But she couldn't even say it was completely untrue. And mix in the other confusing feelings? The incessant fluttering in her stomach and the skipping of her heart? The way he kept making her blush?

Maybe it was all in her head. Maybe this 'seeing dead people thing' was really starting to mess her up. Or maybe isolating herself for the last seven years had screwed up her social skills; maybe it was starting to make her desperate. Maybe it was a combination of both, made all that much more complicated by the fact that she shared an unusual bond with Daryl.

It was like he'd said: they'd been through a _hell_ of a lot of crazy shit over the last week. How could she _not _feel some kind of connection to him after all that?

But that still left her with the biggest and most unsettling question: _should _she be feeling _this much _of a connection with him?

Surely not.

Then again, there was—

"If you think this is gonna be some kinda _happily ever after_ fuckin' fairytale, you ain't been payin' much goddamn attention."

Beth was harshly shaken from her thoughts by Merle's scratchy voice. She'd been staring down at the dying grass beneath her feet as she made her way to the back porch, and when she raised her head, she found him leaning against the side of the house with a burning cigarette between his fingers and a scowl on his face.

She frowned and opened her mouth to respond, but he took a step forward and jabbed a finger at her, cutting her off.

"Now you listen, sugartits, and you listen _real good_: I want my brother to at least get a piece of ass outta this whole ordeal just as much as the next guy, no matter _how_ this clusterfuck might turn out. But that don't mean he's gonna go _fallin' in love_ or some shit. So you best get it through that pretty li'l head a yers right now: Dixons don't settle down. They ain't the types ya bring home to Daddy. You can't _fix_ us. We might be no more'an a bunch'a stray cats, but we're _outdoor cats_; you can feed us, we might keep comin' 'round, but we ain't ever gonna be no indoor cat. Daryl's real fuckin' soft, but he'll _never_ be soft enough to go squeezin' himself into yer God-fearin', church-goin', white-picket-fence _bullshit_ little box."

"What the fuck are you on about now?" Beth spat.

Merle lowered his hand, still scowling. He took a drag off his cigarette, glaring at her with narrowed eyes, and exhaled the smoke as he said, "How many times I gotta tell you I'm not as stupid as I look? Don't forget I'm a _ghost_, darlin'. I see _everything_."

She blinked dumbly.

He flicked an ash and it disappeared before it hit the ground. "The flirtin', the fuckin' _nudges_ an' the cutesy li'l hand-holding. Tellin' him you _care_ about 'im. You think I don't see the way yer tryin' ta wrap yer hand 'round my baby's brother's nutsack?"

She sneered in disgust and said, "Get over yourself. I told him I care about him because I _do_—I'm doin' this to help _him_, not because I give a crap about _you_. Don't get it twisted."

Merle rolled his eyes. "That's not the part that's gettin' twisted, brainiac. _You're_ the one crushin' on the guy whose _soul_ yer supposed to be saving!"

Beth barked out a laugh and quipped, "'_Crushing on'_? What is this, 1997?"

"Don't change the subject," he said flatly.

"What _is_ the subject, exactly?" She glared back at him, unwavering. "You think I'm crossin' some sorta line by wanting to be _friends_ with Daryl? Are you _jealous_? Is that it?"

He scoffed and grew a little angrier, the half-smoked cigarette in his hand nearly forgotten. "Stop playin' dumb, princess. You don't wanna be _friends_—Christ, ya already forced the guy to meet yer family; poured yer sad li'l heart out to him 'bout yer dead mama, shared a buncha secrets an' held his fuckin' hand. You think this is gonna turn out like some kinda cheesy movie, don'tcha? The lonely girl who could see ghosts an' the insecure redneck that had no choice but to rely on her, 's that it? Well newsflash: this ain't one of yer rom-coms, blondie. You can't go messin' with his head like that, 'cause you ain't gonna _like_ how it turns out for ya."

Beth didn't hesitate to argue back, "So, what—you disappear when things get too stressful and then you eavesdrop anyway?"

Merle took a harsh drag off his cigarette that would've made any other person cough, but he held it in his lungs and glared daggers at her, exhaling the cloud of smoke through gritted teeth. Then he growled, "I'm always around _somewhere_, sweetheart. Always listening. Ya only know I'm there if I _want _you to know."

She brushed off the threatening tone to his statement and countered, "Oh yeah, I bet—just in case we're talking about _you_, huh? Just so you can be sure to intervene whenever you think your brother might be emotionally maturing farther than you ever could?" She gave him a mocking smirk. "That's what this is, isn't it? _Jealousy?_ You wanna make sure Daryl remembers his _place_ so he doesn't threaten the _legacy_ you left behind?"

He grunted and shook his head. "Real cute. But _smug_ don't suit you, sunshine." He put the cigarette to his lips and inhaled the final bits of nicotine and tar before tossing the burnt-out butt aside. Then he breathed out the gray smoke and said, "Y'wanna act like you _know_ him after no more'an a few days. Think y'all can connect through some _mommy issues_—but you got no fuckin' _idea_ what that boy's been through… He's damaged goods, girlfriend."

Beth burst out, "And so am I. What of it?"

Merle laughed, cold and humorless. He crossed his arms over his chest and stared down his nose at her, still scowling heavily. "Ain't the same kinda damaged. He tells ya what you can handle—no more, no less. He might trust you, might wanna stick his _dick_ inside ya 'fore this is all over, but he ain't gonna stick _around_." His lips curled up into a taunting smile. "I see you _catchin'_ _feelings_, blondie. And I'm tryn'a save you some heartache—tryn'a give you a heads up. You should be _thanking_ me."

She reached down and grasped her purse pointedly. "You've yet to do a damn thing that would earn my gratitude."

He scoffed. "Key word: _yet_. Yer still actin' like you know it all. Fuckin' ignorant—"

But as soon as Beth opened up her purse and pulled out the Djab Idol, he stopped talking. His eyes widened and he looked from the doghead statue clasped in her hand up to her face.

"The fuck? Yer jus' carryin' that thing around all willy nilly?!"

She quirked an eyebrow and held the idol in front of her like a silent threat. "Yeah. Never know _when_ I might need it."

He waved her off dismissively. "Oh please, you won't—"

"Don't _tempt_ me," she interjected, lowering her voice. "You were no help today. In fact, you managed to screw up the _one job _we gave you. All you've done is throw temper tantrums an' break my stuff."

He narrowed his eyes and said, "I've done what I _can_. The fuck d'you expect from a _dead_ guy?"

"Bullshit," she argued. "You can wreak havoc on a whole police precinct, but you can't throw some things around for two full minutes when we actually _need _you to? Yer bein' stubborn and vengeful, just admit it."

Anger flashed across his face and his icy blue eyes darkened. "I'll admit that once _you_ admit that you'rebein' a lovesick li'l _cunt_."

Beth's temper flared and she snapped back, "So _what_ if I care about Daryl?! Maybe I _do_ like him—that's none of yer goddamn business one way or the other."

"The _hell_ it ain't!" Merle said, his voice rising and his spine going stiff. "You're supposed to be solving my fucking _murder_, not fawnin' over my brother an' losin' track of what's important! Yer gonna get both of y'all killed with them teenage hormones leadin' ya 'round, you _dumb bitch_!"

She bit back a retort and swiftly reached into her purse with her free hand, pulling out a folded slip of paper. She glared at Merle as she unfolded it, clutching the idol in her other hand almost threateningly.

"Y'know, I'm gonna be kickin' myself for a long time once I realize how much easier everything is without _you_ around," she said spitefully.

But Merle didn't appear spooked this time. Or he just wasn't letting his apprehension show. He snarled at her and said, "G'on then. Do it, blondie. _Banish _me. Let's see how far ya get 'fore ya go crawlin' back to that spook in the swamps, _beggin'_ him to bring me back."

She huffed out, half-amused, "You really think I won't do it."

"Oh, I _know _ya won't do it," he quipped. "You ain't got the fuckin' balls. You _need_ me." Then he put his hands on his hips and leaned back a bit, looking her up and down like he was sizing her up. He sucked on his teeth and chortled. "'Sides… how ya gonna explain _that_ one to Daryl? I reckon he won't be rushin' to hold yer hand once he realizes you banished his brother's _fucking_ _soul_ away."

She managed to hide the sudden wave of doubt that washed over her, forcing a smug smirk.

She'd fought like this a million times before, bluffing her way to success. That was the one good thing sibling rivalry had taught her.

"I'm sure he'll understand," she said, squaring her shoulders and feigning confidence.

No, he absolutely wouldn't. And she had no desire to attempt to do such a thing, let alone try to explain it, even in the heat of her rage. But Merle needed a reality check.

Merle scoffed, clearly unconvinced. "Y'think so, huh? What'cha gonna tell him? That I _hurt yer wittle feewings_?" He laughed. "You _really_ don't know him like ya think you do, sweetcheeks. Trust me."

Beth gritted her teeth and exhaled a frustrated sigh through her nose.

Why was she arguing with a _ghost_? The more he pushed her, the more she seriously contemplated banishing him. The closer he urged her towards a justified solution.

Maybe Daryl _would _understand. Eventually. It wasn't like he didn't know how insufferable his own brother could be.

Merle was useless. He did nothing but taunt her and berate her and make her life so much harder than it had to be. And when she stopped and realized how much she'd uncovered with absolutely zero help from him—who was to say she needed to keep him around for _anything_? She could do it all on her own, really; she could figure out how to use her Gift. She could track down this Philip Blake guy. She could save Daryl's soul from Hell.

"You ain't _shit_ without me," he growled, as though he could read the serious contemplation on her face. As though he were eager to challenge it. "No Merle means no Daryl. You best remember that 'fore you go diggin' a hole ya can't climb out of, Greene."

Ya know what? Daryl would get over it.

Because quite frankly, Merle could go _fuck_ himself.

She squinted down at the crinkled paper grasped in her hand, tilting it towards the porchlight that poured out across the grass and through Merle's entire body. His chest was puffed out like he'd just won something, his eyes set on her as though he expected the argument to continue. He didn't waiver until her voice rang out around him, loud and meaningful, reading from the paper while she gripped the doghead statue in her other hand.

She struggled to pronounce the foreign language correctly, but she put weight behind the words and sounded them out to the best of her ability, slow and steady: "_Pulvis quem… projicit… ventus…_"

She didn't have to look up from the scrawled words to know his face had fallen, because she could hear it in his tone when he took a quick step forward and put out his hands. "The fuck d'you think yer doin'?! Cut it out!"

She ignored him and continued, "—_illius implebit a… generationibus… __**Merle Dixon**_!"

As soon as his name poured from her mouth, she felt the idol in her hand growing warm. She tore her eyes away from the paper and glanced at it, fingers wrapping tighter around the intricately carved statue. It seemed to pulsate softly against her palm, warmer than her own skin. Inviting.

Merle didn't try to hide his panic. "_Stop_ that! Jesus Christ, Beth! You got any idea what yer fuckin' _doing_?!"

Beth looked at him, eyes narrowed and full of fiery determination, and said, "Getting rid of you."

Fear flashed across his face and before she could glance back down at the paper, he swatted at the Djab Idol with one open-palmed hand. There was a brief sensation of hard muscle against her curled fingers, and then the statue flew out of her grasp and landed in the gravel of the long driveway several feet away.

She turned her wide-eyed, shocked gaze on Merle, who appeared just as surprised as she was.

"Why couldn't you do that at Terminus?!" She cried out, almost accusatory. "It was literally _all_ we asked of you!"

Merle took a step back, frowning in bewilderment and glancing back and forth from the doghead statue on the ground to Beth. "'Cause it don't fuckin' _work_ like that—the hell you want from me, girl?! I'm doin' my goddamn _best_ here!"

"Then how _does_ it work?" She snapped, clenching her empty fist at her side and taking a step toward him. "'Cause from where I'm standin', it looks like you only help out when you _feel_ like it. Like this is some kinda fucking _game_ to you!"

His fear disappeared, replaced with fury once again. He slashed an arm through the air and heatedly argued, spittle flying from his lips, "This ain't no fucking _game_—this is my _soul_, it's _Daryl's_ soul, Jesus _FUCK_! You think I'm that goddamn stupid?! If this is a game, then I sure as shit ain't the one makin' up the rules!"

Beth continued to stand her ground, insistent. "You know more than yer lettin' on and I'm _sick_ of it—I'm sick of the puzzles and the guessing and the _bullshit_, Merle Dixon. You'd better have a _damn_ good excuse for why you can only help us when it's convenient fer you, or I_ swear_…" She trailed off with a stiff jaw and clenched teeth, glaring daggers at him.

Merle's mouth twitched and his hands clenched into fists at his sides, his stance unwavering. "Only thing I got ta tell you is what I _think_, an' it ain't much. So I hope yer swearin' to that precious messiah of yers." He gestured lazily towards the small gold cross hanging from her neck. "Whatever it is that yer fuckin' _swearin'_."

She gave a pointed look at the Djab Idol lying in the gravel several feet away and said, "I swear I'll _banish_ you. I have no reason _not_ to at this point. And I _really_ don't care what Daryl will think, 'cause my own sanity is worth a lot more than anybody else's approval."

"Well that's a selfish way to look at things," Merle sneered. But his eyes were glancing warily over at the doghead statue. "Not very _Christian-like_ of you."

"I don't _care_ anymore. I'm bein' nice enough to give you a chance to convince me why I shouldn't, and that's a lot more than anybody else would give you. After the way you've talked to me, I shouldn't even be givin' you one more _second_ of my time. But I am. So go on, _explain_ yourself," she said, stern and confident. "This is your last chance to plead your case. Or I _will_ finish reading this spell." She held up the crinkled paper grasped in her hand.

His jaw ticked to the side and he retained the stubborn frown on his face, yet he didn't try to argue. She still wasn't sure that he fully believed her threat, but he must've believed it enough to start taking it seriously. He put up his hands in reluctant half-surrender.

"Fine," he growled. "But it's no more'an a _theory_. I still got no idea how all this works, I only been dead a few weeks an' I never tried doin' even _half_ a this stuff till I found you in them woods. I'm learnin' as I go, alrigh'? Just like you are."

Beth quirked an eyebrow and gave a clipped nod. "Uh-huh. So what's this _theory_, then?"

_This oughta be rich, _she thought.

Merle lowered his hands and squared his shoulders, his eyes tinged with trepidation, though his face remained stoic and defiant. "I can move shit, break stuff an' play music an' whatnot… but only when I really _want_ to."

Beth sighed in exasperation, rolling her eyes. "No shit."

"Nah, nah, 's not what I mean," he insisted. "It's not like I can _control_ it. When it happens, it's not necessarily when I _really _want to—just when I'm… feelin' some type'a way. When it gets to feelin' particularly _strong_."

She paused, contemplating his flimsy explanation. "You mean, when you get _emotional_?" She almost laughed, smiling crookedly. "Are you tryin' to tell me that all your little outbursts are just because you're _feeling strong emotions_?"

He scowled in disgust and leaned back like he was offended. "I don't _get_ emotional."

She rolled her eyes again. "Yes, you do—I've seen it. _Several_ times. Everyone gets emotional, Merle. Even your new BFF, Legba. And he's a _demon_."

"I get pissed," he argued, ticking off fingers on his hand. "I get happy. I get horny. And I get bored. That's it. Ain't no _emotional_ about it."

"Good lord," Beth muttered. "You can't even name five of your own emotions? You're more of a wreck than I thought."

Merle scoffed and flipped her the bird before crossing his arms over his puffed-out chest. "That good enough for ya? Huh? Can we call this therapy session-slash-hostage situation a wrap an' get back to figurin' out how to track down the guy who killed me _and_ my dealer?"

She raised her chin and returned his look of defiance with one of her own. "No, actually. I wanna know _exactly_ what you mean, 'cause it still doesn't make much sense. And I'm not sure yer even being honest."

"The hell else you think I'm gonna tell ya? I done admitted I ain't no expert."

"You could break my mirror, throw Daryl's beer mug through a window, turn on radios, screw with _everything_ in the Sheriff's Department—hell, I _saw _how far you went with Shane. And yer tryin' to tell me that you could do _all _that, but for some odd reason, you weren't _'feeling strongly enough'_ to cause a distraction at Terminus?"

Merle shrugged. "Yeah. Basically."

Beth sighed, exasperated. "How does _that _make any sense?"

"I don't _know_ those people. I didn't give two shits about 'em," he claimed. "Hauntin' Walsh was different—I've had a burnin' hatred fer that motherfucker for _years_. It was easy. And when we was inside Terminus, sure. I got a li'l buzzed by the thrill of helping y'all sneak around, a li'l psyched up. But once I pushed a cabinet over an' nearly squashed that dude's mama, I got bored. Real fuckin' fast."

Beth blinked. "Seriously? You got _bored_? That's your excuse?"

"It's not an excuse, it's the fuckin' _truth_," Merle snapped back. "Might not be what ya wanna hear, but there it is. 'Sall I got for ya, blondie. Take it or leave it."

She cleared her throat and gave him a stern look, lifting one eyebrow. "You don't think it was Legba intervening on what you can do?"

The color drained from his face rather quickly at that, but he responded, "_Fuck_ no. Jus' trust me on this one—if it was that asshole's doin', I'd tell ya. He ain't got _that_ much power over me. Wasn't the deal we made."

For the sake of her own fragile anxiety, she chose to believe him. "Fine. I'll trust you on this one. But you haven't done a very good job of convincing me not to _banish_ you."

"_What?!_" He cried out, indignant. "How? I told ya everythin' you wanted to know. Everythin' _I_ know!"

"And you basically proved to me that you're _useless_," she quipped. "I'm supposed to put up with the way you treat me just because you _might_ feel strongly enough to _kinda_ help us every now and then? That doesn't seem very fair to me."

"Not a goddamn thing about this that's _fair_, princess," he spat, glaring back at her with pure contempt. "But sooner or later, you're gonna end up draggin' my brother into somethin' that could get him killed. And I've earned the fucking _right_ to be there—to have the chance to intervene. One a these days, yer gonna be thanking God and Jesus and even Lucifer for giftin' you with Merle Dixon's presence."

"Yeah, and one day Hell will freeze over," she said bitterly. "You're so convinced that I'm gonna screw this up somehow, yet _I'm_ the only reason you even know how you _died_."

He sucked on his teeth and glared down his nose at her, back to his usual smugness. "You've gotten _lucky_ this whole time. With yer li'l Gift. Shit, it ain't like you _knew_ what the fuck you were doin'. Just so happens ya got some random visions. Yer gettin' an awful big head already for bein' so goddamn _clueless_." He scoffed, turning his body away from her and waving her off like he was bored with the conversation. "'S like the blind leadin' the blind over here. Li'l miss _Can't Leave My Daddy_ thinks she's got it a-a-a-all figured out just 'cause she fainted a few times an' had some lucid dreams. Jesus Christ, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you was—"

Beth had opened her mouth, prepared to go off for the hundredth time tonight, but Merle's little rant was interrupted by the sound of the backdoor slamming shut. He whipped his head around and she snapped her lips shut, and they both looked towards the back porch, watching curiously for a second to see who'd stepped out.

She suddenly realized how loud she'd probably been. It was a wonder the whole family hadn't come out to see who she was arguing so heatedly with.

She was hoping for Maggie, but it was Hershel who stepped down from the porch and glanced around with furrowed brows and confusion. Merle huffed out a sigh that sounded like a mixture of amusement and annoyance before disappearing. Hershel approached his youngest daughter, walking slowly over the dying grass.

"Beth?" He asked. "Who're you talkin' to out here, sweetheart?"

"Sorry, Daddy," she immediately apologized, folding the paper in her hand and hurriedly shoving it back into her purse. "I was on the phone."

He didn't seem to doubt her, though his confusion changed to concern. "Oh—with who? It sounded like you were arguing. Is everything alright?"

She bit her lip, hating herself for lying to her father. But she had no choice. "Nobody, it was—it's fine. I wasn't arguin', I just got a little excited."

He stepped closer and reached out to put a large, gentle hand on her shoulder. "You sure, Doodlebug? Didn't sound like excitement. I could hear you from inside the kitchen." He paused and looked her up and down, frowning. "Were you talkin' to Daryl? Is he bein'—"

Beth interjected before he could say anything else, "Daddy, no. It wasn't Daryl. It's fine, I promise. He's been nothin' less than a perfect gentleman."

Hershel didn't look entirely convinced. "You sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure," she insisted. Then she smiled, unable to be anything but grateful for her father's everlasting overprotectiveness. "He, um… he took me to Mom's grave today. And picked some flowers to leave for her. It was really nice."

That did the trick. The sparkle in Hershel's blue eyes returned, and he smiled down at her with relief. He gave her shoulder a squeeze before pulling his hand back.

"That's good, Bethy. I'm glad to hear it. That boy's not so bad as some people say, is he?" He winked playfully.

She chuckled. "No, he's definitely not. He's, uh. He's a real good friend, I think."

Her father raised his eyebrows and gave her a _look _that made her want to end the conversation right here and now. But then he chuckled as well and said, "_Friend_, huh? Is that what they call it nowadays?"

Beth could feel her face turning bright red and she quickly shook her head, stifling a laugh. "Dad! _Stop_ it. I mean it—we're _friends_. We barely even _know_ each other."

Hershel put up his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay, I get it. Maybe I'm just gettin' a little ahead of myself. It's been too long since I've seen you make a new friend, Doodlebug."

She frowned and fidgeted with the strap of her purse self-consciously. "I know…"

_Don't remind me, _she wanted to say.

He could see the discomfort brought on by his statement and he gazed down at her apologetically. "I don't mean it like that. It's a _good_ thing. I'm happy for you, honey."

She smiled weakly and shrugged, cheeks still warm.

Then he turned and gestured back towards the house. "C'mon, let's go inside. Everybody's in the den. We were goin' through your mama's old scrapbooks—you always loved those, remember? Why don'tcha come join us fer a little while? Your sister's only here for a few days, I want you girls to spend some time together."

Beth quickly nodded and agreed, "Alright. Yeah. That might be nice."

She waited until he'd turned around and begun heading back to the porch before she rushed over and snatched up the Djab Idol from where it lay in the gravel of the driveway. She shoved it back into her purse and followed after her dad. When he glanced back to make sure she was right behind him, she offered a reassuring smile.

But she could still feel Merle's presence somewhere nearby. And she knew their little argument was far from over.

**to be continued… **


	45. Valid Points From a Deceased Man

**Valid Points From a Deceased Man**

Beth spent the rest of her evening amongst her family, sitting around the coffee table with her mother's old scrapbooks laid out, laughing and reminiscing. They sipped tea and passed around a bowl of candy corn—most of which went to Hershel and Glenn while everyone else politely passed. And for a few hours, Beth barely thought about Merle or Daryl or The Governor.

For a few precious hours, Merle stayed gone and allowed Beth to have some time to be normal with the rest of her family, despite everything they were currently wrapped up in. Even Maggie seemed to forget the circumstances at hand for a short time. Which Beth was grateful for.

Of course, it was a different story once they'd all said goodnight and retired to their respective sleeping spaces. While the soft haze of reminiscence and fond memories began to fade away, Shawn locked himself away behind the door of his lifelong bedroom, Maggie and Glenn disappeared into Maggie's old bedroom, and Hershel retreated to his own quiet room. Leaving Beth to retreat into her bedroom and shut the door on a dark hallway, apprehensive about what she might come face-to-face with once she was alone.

But Merle didn't show up until she'd already stripped down, changed into pajamas, shut off the light, and snuggled into her bed.

Even in the dim glow of the moon that leaked through the curtains, she could see him sitting at her desk on the other side of the room. She shut her eyes and let out a long breath, wrapping the blankets a little tighter around her shoulders.

"You gonna keep me up all night again?" She guessed.

He cackled. "That's what _she_ said."

Beth kept her eyes shut and ignored his tasteless joke. "Seriously," she mumbled.

There was a brief moment of silence. Then, "Wasn't my plan. Ain't try'na make ya any crankier than you already are."

She chose to ignore that and focus on falling asleep. She was so tired, and honestly, she had no desire to listen to anything else Merle might want to say.

But as usual, he couldn't take a hint.

"Seriously, though…"

She didn't open her eyes, but she sighed and rolled over so her back was to him. He took it as a sign that she was still listening.

"Don't go takin' this as an apology, 'cause I ain't got shit to be sorry for," he said. "But I'll admit, I can be a little… _crass_ at times. I can't help it. 'Specially when it comes to Daryl. Dying didn't do shit for my patience. Or my temper."

Beth remained silent and unmoving. She listened tentatively, beginning to wonder if maybe she should pull out her headphones and try to drown him out with music.

"But all's I been tryn'a tell ya is… Yer worryin' me, blondie. I know you think ya got this all under control, but I don't think it's gonna _be_ that easy. This Gift you got… well, I reckon it's a helluva lot bigger'an' any of us. I got a bad feelin' 'bout it."

She tried to bite her tongue, but she couldn't help herself. Without opening her eyes or rolling over, she asked, "_Now _you have a bad feeling? What the hell do you even know about my Gift…"

"Not a lot," he admitted. "But I know _you_. Spendin' all this time together, I'm gettin' ta know you _real _well. And I can tell yer gettin' scared. I can tell yer startin' to get in over your head with all these visions and dreams."

Her heart skipped with dread. She didn't respond. She lay motionless, wrapped up tightly in her blanket. He was right: she _was_ scared. But not exactly for the reasons he'd surmised.

It was a scary thing to realize Merle Dixon was getting to _know_ her. Even scarier to realize there was no real way to avoid such a thing. They _were _spending a lot of time together, unfortunately.

He clucked his tongue, but he wasn't laughing or cackling. He wasn't so much as huffing out a breath of amusement. He was speaking matter-of-factly. Solemnly. Leaving her with no doubt as to how serious he was.

"I may not be any kinda expert, but I think it's pretty fuckin' clear that you need to get your shit together—and I don't mean that in a rude way. I mean, you need to figure this Gift out. You need to learn how to control it… else it'll end up controllin' _you_. And we can't be havin' that. There's too much at stake here. I seen the look on yer face after yer little nap in Rick's car. I also seen how hard it was to wake ya up. You can't keep toein' the line between here an' The Other Side like it's some kinda tightrope. You gotta be in _control_, girl. You gotta know what you're capable of, how to use it to your advantage. You gotta know how ta get where ya need to go _and_ get back. That's the important part—ya hear? Getting back."

Okay, maybe Merle was more observant than Beth gave him credit for.

She slowly lifted her eyelids but didn't move any other muscles, staring at the wall next to her bed in complete silence. The slew of visions and odd dreams that she'd experienced over the last week were drifting around inside her head, speeding up her heartbeat and making her body stiff with anxiety.

Shit. He had a really good point. As odd as it seemed, she was fairly certain that Morgan or Florence Newton would be giving her the same advice right now if they could. Albeit less condescendingly.

"And look," Merle went on. "I know this shit's turned yer whole little sheltered world upside-down in less'an a week, and it's a lot to take in, but just 'cause yer makin' a new friend don't mean everything else is gonna fall together all picture-perfect like. I already _knew_ you'd get a crush on my dumbass brother, I ain't much upset 'bout that—it's the fact that you're lettin' yer head get lost up in the clouds. I don't give a fuck if you wanna go 'round holdin' hands with Daryl, kissin' him, what-have-you. Hell, the boy could _use_ some female affection. But ya can't let it _distract_ you. Y'all get too close, get all soft, let yer _feelings_ get in the way, an' the next thing we know, The Governor's gettin' one over on us an' makin' ghosts outta _both_ y'all. This just ain't the time fer relationship bullshit. You got a Gift that you ain't even known you had till a few days ago, and we have a _murder_ to solve. You _need_ to get yer priorities straight, Greene."

Beth clenched her jaw and resisted the urge to turn around and face Merle. Instead, she muttered, "And how d'you suggest I do that? Since you obviously know so much about me and my… _priorities_."

He sighed and she could hear the agitation in his voice. But for the first time since she'd met him, he seemed to be suppressing his anger and at least _attempting_ to remain civil. "Well, I think you should start on _controlling_ this Gift. Reckon it ain't very healthy fer you to be passin' out every time you get a vision. Or driftin' off to places unknown whenever you fall asleep. Ya oughta learn how to use it instead of lettin' it run all haywire."

Fair enough.

"Okay," she said through gritted teeth. "_How_, exactly?"

"Christ, I dunno. Can't you Google it or sum'n? I didn't say I had _all_ the answers, I'm just tryn'a give you some advice. Talk some damn sense into that teenage-hormone-filled noggin."

She reflexively mumbled, "I'm not a _teenager_."

"Whatever," he said. "Point is, you need ta take a cue from that Swamp Witch guy you admire so much. Need ta figure out what yer dealin' with here, learn how to channel it and manage it like he does. What kinda self-respecting psychic would ya be if you didn't even _try_ to have control over your powers?"

_Google it,_ she thought. Google it? The one thing she admittedly did _not_ do when it came to seeing dead people and having visions from The Other Side? Could it really be that simple?

Beth shut her eyes and tried to tell herself that this was a problem for tomorrow. But she could feel Merle's expectant silence hanging over her. And in all honesty, there was no way she was gonna be able to fall asleep with this heavy matter weighing on her mind.

She recalled what Morgan had mentioned in passing; how he meditated and had visions of her, how he was teaching his son to use their inherited Gift. She recalled the confidence in his voice, the strength he seemed to exude, the way he spoke like he knew exactly what he was doing. From the sounds of it, and from what she witnessed, he definitely had this whole thing figured out.

So maybe meditation was the first step? But it wasn't like she could call him up and ask.

She lay still and quiet for several more moments, contemplating her predicament. If she tried to go to sleep right now, who was to say she wouldn't accidentally step into another plane? Who was to say she wouldn't lose control and fall into Papa Legba's grasp this time? The Witch of Youghal had already warned her once.

And it was true: she was _very _new to her Gift. Extremely inexperienced, despite the fact that she'd had these abilities for her entire life. All she'd ever known was that dead people talked to her, though. She'd never had to deal with visions and dreams and peeks past The Veil. She'd never had to contemplate the possibility of a demon using her novice ignorance against her. Not until now.

What if Merle was right? (God help her for thinking that, but…)

What if Beth really was in way over her head?

The prolonged silence proved to be too tense for Merle's liking, and he spoke a little louder, an edge of agitation to his tone. "Alright blondie, look—I _know_. I _know_ yer sick of me, I _know_ I been gettin' on yer every last nerve, I know ya think you wanna banish me—"

She interjected sharply, "I don't _think_ I _want_ to—I'm _going_ to. I'm _gonna_ banish you away from me, Merle Dixon. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe the next day. I haven't decided yet. But I _have_ decided that I'm not spending so much as one more _week_ takin' your abuse."

She could feel the heat from his glare on her back, but she still refused to roll over and face him. If she had, she would've seen him narrowing his eyes, and she would've seen the corded muscles in his neck tensing and flexing as he struggled to suppress his rage.

Surprisingly, and somewhat impressively, he bit his tongue and retained his passive tone. "Ain't no _abuse_ about it. Only thing I've been doin' is tellin' you like it is. Crackin' a few jokes. Not my fault you got a stick up yer ass."

Beth blurted out the first retort that popped into her head and formed on her lips: "You've _lied_. Over and over. Even when it came down to your own _murder_, down to the fate of your brother's _soul_—you've lied and lied and lied some more. We wouldn't have half the mysteries to solve that we do if it weren't for your bullshit head games."

Merle scoffed, but she could hear him shifting uncomfortably in her desk chair, clearing his throat.

Then, with far more honesty than she'd ever anticipated from him, he said, "Alright. I respect that—tellin' me like it is. You ain't wrong. I can't say I've been the most _honest_ motherfucker to ever haunt a bitch."

There was a pregnant pause. Beth let out a sigh of resignation and rolled over to finally face Merle, glaring at him over the top of her blanket.

She made sure he could see the icy expectation in her eyes when she asked, "_But…?_"

His mouth quirked to the side, curving downwards, and his arms tightened over his chest. He glanced away, frowning, as he muttered, "_But…_ I didn't lie outta bad intentions. Never left nothin' out on _purpose_. Just… wanted to make sure you was doin' this for the _right_ reasons."

Beth didn't say anything, but the look she was giving him got the message across. Regardless, Merle didn't appear the least bit apologetic.

"Can't be havin' some gold digger sniffin' 'round my baby brother," he clarified. "'F you knew there was money or somethin' involved—somethin' you could _swindle_ him out of—who's to say ya wouldn't keep it fer yerself an' throw us Dixon boys to the wolves?"

"Because I'm not a selfish person," she replied flatly. "I think I've made it pretty clear that I'm doing this for Daryl; not for myself or my family. And sure as hell not for _you_. I've had a choice this entire time, and I've continuously _chosen_ to help."

Merle rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I _get _it," he said, annoyed. "Saint Beth an' all that, blah blah blah. Oughta get you a statue outside the Vatican, huh?"

"The Vatican is for Catholics, dumbass."

He rolled his eyes.

Beth lowered the blanket a few inches, still glaring at him suspiciously from where she lay. "What're you gettin' at, anyway? It's not like there's some kinda reward I'm going after. So what've you been lying about _this_ time?"

He sighed and slumped his shoulders like she'd just asked him to take the trash out. But it only took a moment of hesitation before he was replying, "I didn't _lie_. Just… told a little fib."

She tensed and prepared to admonish him, but before she could, he began to explain.

"I didn't spend _all _the money. It's… there's still a little bit left."

"I knew it." Beth couldn't help but scoff in disgust. "I _knew_ you couldn't have spent it all."

He paused and uncrossed his arms, leaning forward in his seat and widening his eyes at her, speaking more intensely. "But that don't mean it's for_ you_. Ya hear me? It's for _Daryl_. He rightfully earned it, just like I did. Ain't nobody else entitled to it 'cept him."

"How _dare _you accuse _me _of wanting that money, when _I'm _the one who told you it should've gone to Daryl in the first place. I—"

Merle put up a hand to stop her and snapped, "Whatever the fuck you say, sweetcheeks. But I know women. I _know_ how y'all operate. And if there's money involved, y'all _always_ go for the cash. So don't waste yer breath tryn'a convince me otherwise, 'cause I got a whole goddamn lifetime of experience that tells me females can't be _trusted_."

She cringed and shot him a death glare. "I don't give a crap about your dad's _blood money_. But when you keep things to yourself—when you lie because you think you can't _trust_ me—that's what tells me I don't need you. I could banish you and figure out the truth on my own. I don't have time for your games, and neither does Daryl."

She expected him to laugh, or at least flash one of his signature smug smiles. But he didn't. He paused. Hesitated. Looked away from her and fiddled with a loose thread in his jeans.

And the repentant tone of his voice threw her off, to the point that she had no choice but to hear him. To absorb his words.

"I know. I fucked up, alrigh'? And I'm tryin' to come clean. Can't blame me fer fibbin' 'bout the money. But I ain't lied 'bout nothin' else, hand to God." He sat up straighter and narrowed his eyes, scowling heavily. Then his expression softened just as quickly as it had hardened, and he blinked and avoided her gaze. He spoke quietly, "Well… mostly."

Beth blinked in astonishment. She'd _almost _started feeling bad for him.

She repeated, incredulous, "_Mostly?_"

Merle shrugged and said, "Y'asked if I ever heard of that Brian Blake fella. Said I didn't."

She raised her eyebrows, staring back at him expectantly. He still wouldn't meet her gaze.

He let out a tired sigh. "I didn't _know_ him—'f that's what yer thinkin'. Wouldn't lie about sum'n like that. But I… think I mighta _heard_ about him. Years ago. Way before all the drugs an' drink liquified my memory."

She was far too intrigued to pretend otherwise at this point. She sat up and leaned back against the headboard of her bed, the blanket still drawn up to her chest, a frown of uncertainty on her face. But she was sitting up and giving Merle her full attention, wordlessly signaling for him to go on. He was worrying his lower lip and bearing a striking resemblance to Daryl, visibly tense and avoiding eye contact.

When a long moment passed in silence, Beth broke it by asking, "And what did you hear about him?" She quickly added, "Be _honest_, Merle."

Merle shrugged and continued fiddling with the loose thread on his jeans. Then he said, "Back when I was in the Service—got stationed with some fellas from Georgia. There was a few of us from King County that got put in the same company. I heard some older guys talkin' 'bout a Blake from Peachtree City, some younger dude that they did a tour with. They'd just caught wind that he was dead. They was sayin' how they were surprised, how they never thought he'd be the type to put the barrel in his mouth. They was uh, they was passin' 'round their _theories_… 'cause none of 'em really believed he did himself in. Guess they all thought it was some kinda cover-up."

Beth furrowed her brow in confusion, but all her doubt and frustration had fled at the implication that she could hear in Merle's tone.

She urged him on, "A cover-up for what? What _kind_ of theories were they passing around?"

He frowned and replied, "Crazy shit. I'ono… Can't say I knew any of 'em too well. We didn't spend a whole lotta time together. And I didn't ask many questions. Wasn't out there to make _friends_. But the shit I did catch seemed a li'l outta pocket. Never gave it much thought, if we're bein' honest."

"Why not?"

"'Cause they made it sound like his own _brother_ killed him. And that just… never made no damn sense to me."

Beth let out a deep breath. "So you _have_ heard of Philip Blake. You knew who he was even before Rick helped us figure it out," she accused, barely suppressing her fury. "And you played dumb this whole time."

"No!" Merle argued, giving her a look of repulsion. "Are you not _listening_? I didn't know who the fuck he was, I didn't even know his dead brother—the name barely rang a bell, for fuck's sake. Took me all day to remember where the hell I'd heard it before. You know how many fuckin' years ago that was? I don't like thinkin' about my time in the Service, blondie. Tried ta drink all them memories away. And I damn near succeeded."

Beth scowled with heavy disbelief.

"Even if I had remembered it, I wasn't gonna go spoutin' off every useless bit of information that came to mind," he said bitterly. "Not like _you_, little miss 'I got a dead teacher with a similar name.' That's the difference between you an' me—I only speak up when it's actually _useful_."

She scoffed. "At least I _try _to help. You just keep things to yourself until you think you might get something out of it."

"Oh yeah? What the fuck am I s'posed to _get_ outta this? _Huh?_ The hell y'all gonna do when I say, 'oh yeah I think I _mighta_ heard about that guy, think he mighta _not_ killed himself'? What answers d'you think we're gonna get outta _that_, genius?"

"I don't know, and that's the _point_. Every little piece of this stupid puzzle matches up to make something sensical, and when you keep things to yourself, it just makes the puzzle that much harder to solve. I really shouldn't have to _explain_ this to you."

"Then don't. Told ya what I know already—_all _of it. Now quit yer bitchin'." Merle leaned back in the chair and glared at her through the dim glow of the moon. "Typical female, only listenin' when it's _convenient_ for ya."

Beth huffed out an angry sigh and scooted back down in bed, rolling over and pointedly turning her back to him. "Yeah, 'cause it's been _so_ convenient listening to everything _you_ say."

"Obviously not _everything_," he argued. "'Cause I told you every fuckin' thing you coulda _ever_ wanted to know about me an' Daryl that first night I was here, and you didn't listen to one damn bit of it. Too busy tryn'a listen to yer Jonas Brothers and yer fuckin' Britney Spears."

She scowled to herself, recalling the bits and pieces she'd caught throughout the first night of being haunted by Merle. He _had _been talking about his brother a lot. But admittedly, she'd been trying her hardest to drown him out.

How was she to know? At that point, she'd thought it was some kind of one-off thing. Like a curse, or a punishment. How could she have guessed that this dead, foul-mouthed redneck had anything of value to say?

She mumbled back sarcastically, "Okay, _grandpa_."

He grunted, displeased. Then he muttered, "Kiss my wrinkly ass. Can't admit when yer wrong, huh? _…Figures_."

She shut her eyes and attempted to push away the frustration and anger that he'd filled her with so quickly. But she only got a few seconds of silence before Merle was speaking again.

"You gonna tell Daryl 'bout the money?"

"What's the point?" She quipped. "We don't need any more mysteries to solve. I think worrying about saving his soul and finding the guy that wants to _kill_ him is a little more important."

There was a long pause. Then he asked, very seriously and without any traces of sarcasm in his tone, "You _really_ don't wanna know where it is? Or even _how much_ it is?"

"No, Merle. I _really_ don't care," she replied plainly. "This has been enough of an emotional rollercoaster for Daryl already—_and_ for me. I'd like to pretend that money's all gone, like you _said_ it was. I don't even wanna _think_ about it."

"How come?"

"Because I don't wanna think about how hard it'd be not to just _give_ The Governor what he wants and be done with it. I don't wanna be tempted with an easy way out… not when it means saving Daryl's life but sacrificing his soul in the process."

That seemed to be a far more honest answer than Merle had been expecting because he went silent. Beth kept her eyes tightly shut, wishing sleep would take her already.

But now she was thinking about a thousand different things at once, and none of them were very pleasant. She was almost scared to risk falling asleep in this state of mind. Who was to say where she'd go this time?

Merle sucked on his teeth, the sound echoing off the bedroom walls and interrupting the peaceful silence that had settled throughout the entire farmhouse. Beth tensed, no matter how hard she tried not to. She resituated beneath the blanket and wished the dead Dixon would disappear for a few hours. Willed her mind to empty itself and let her rest.

He wouldn't allow it, though.

"I get it, alrigh'?" He drawled. "Can't blame ya for wantin' to be all… _honorable_. And I respect it. In a way. Maybe I underestimated you… Ya ain't _like_ most broads, are ya, blondie?"

Beth bit down on her lower lip and resisted the urge to snap back with an insult. Because _gee_, what a _compliment_ to be told she 'wasn't like other girls' by some misogynistic asshole.

But then he went on, "Not that it matters—you gotta think about the _big picture_ here. We can pretend the money don't exist, but that ain't gonna bring us any closer to trackin' The Governor down. Doesn't get us any further away from Papa Legba neither."

Her breath hitched in her chest.

_Shit_. She hadn't been expecting that. But would she ever be prepared to hear valid points from this guy?

"You said ya seen Legba in that vision, claimed you saw his dogs outside the cabin—and then he makes my brother cough up some weird demon snot?" Merle _tsk_ed, and Beth could almost hear him shaking his head at the same time. "Sounds ta me like he's gettin' a li'l too close fer comfort. Maybe ya oughta start preparin' some defenses or somethin'. Gettin' yerself ready."

She muttered, barely audible, "Ready for _what_?"

"For the fuckin' demon that wants to drag my brother's soul down to Hell," Merle replied flatly. "And whatever tricks this demon _asshole_ might have up his sleeve. Shit, who knows—maybe he wants ta snatch up _your_ soul in the process, too. Wouldn't put it past him. Can't be too careful when we're dealin' with Satan's colleagues now, can we?"

She didn't respond, unmoving beneath her blanket. A jolt of fear coursed through her veins and stiffened her spine.

He waited a few seconds before concluding with, "Reckon you oughta grab the reins on this Gift, girlfriend. Otherwise we're gonna be in fer one _hell_ of a disappointing rodeo."

Beth hated this. She really, _really_ hated this.

She _hated_ when Merle was right.

**to be continued… **


	46. Don't Banish The Messenger

**Don't Banish The Messenger**

Rather than vocally acknowledge the valid point that Merle had made and risk making his ego larger than it already was, Beth chose to remain motionless in bed for several more minutes. Until the dead Dixon was sighing and growing uninterested. She didn't offer any more arguments or accusations.

But after a while of lying in silence and resisting the urge to press him for more answers that she subconsciously knew she'd never get, she decided it was time to start being as proactive as possible. Especially if it meant avoiding another unwanted confrontation with Papa Legba or his Hellhounds. There was no way she'd be able to peacefully fall asleep if she was wrestling with the fear of where she might be sent during her unconscious state.

Because what if Merle was right? What if it really _was_ all about "getting back?" She'd visited some… _dangerous_ places recently. And she knew they were dangerous because she could _feel_ it. They were real. _Too _real. She shouldn't have been dipping her toes that far in. She shouldn't have been taking such long steps past The Veil in her unconscious state. What if Papa Legba intended to play on her weaknesses, knowing she had no control over her Gift, and drag her soul down right along with Daryl's? What if he was just waiting for the perfect opportunity to ambush her and use her Gift against her?

She hadn't even thought to ask Morgan for advice on this subject. And now she was wishing she had. Did she really believe she could figure this out on her own? She didn't have Florence Newton to explain it all to her like Maggie had. She didn't even have a way to communicate with the Swamp Witch without making a five-hour drive.

_This sucks, _she thought.

Beth rolled over in begrudging resignation, avoiding Merle's gaze as she reached over and snatched up her phone from the nightstand. She could feel his eyes on her the whole time, but she made a point of keeping her attention on the phone screen in front of her face. He remained silent while she unlocked it, as though he were expecting her to acknowledge that he was right or something. But she was determined not to give him the pleasure. His head was already too big.

She was surprised to find a new text message waiting for her, especially when she'd only been intending to unlock the screen and go straight to Google. However, she'd received a new message shortly after plugging her phone in and setting it aside for the night. And it was from Daryl.

_Forgot to ask if you got family stuff planned tomorrow. I can go to the insurance company with Rick alone if you're busy. Just lmk._

She couldn't help but smile as she texted back: _"Nothing planned. No worries, I wanna go with you guys and be as much help as possible."_

Once she'd pressed Send and watched the text message solidify itself in their phone conversation, she thought about the curious little side-eyes Shawn had been giving her all night. The knowing winks her dad had shot her way. Even the discreet smirks Glenn had been flashing whenever relationships or marriage was mentioned. The fact that they all thought she was "_seeing_" Daryl. While only Maggie knew the real truth.

How much longer would Beth have to lie to her family? Because she really hated being so dishonest with her own father. And her brother's presumptions were already starting to get on her nerves. Plus, she didn't want to give them some kind of false hope. She didn't want them to start thinking she was "spreading her wings" or "following after her sister's footsteps" or something.

But how could she possibly explain that no, she didn't have a new boyfriend, she was just helping a guy whose dead brother had bargained his soul to a demon? That yeah, she might've made a new friend, but she'd also discovered she was a Witch and that she had a sorta God-given duty to help this random pair of brothers she'd never met before?

She simply couldn't. There was no way to explain this situation to them. They just wouldn't _get it_. Her daddy would probably think she'd become some kind of devil worshipper. Shawn would think she'd lost her damn mind. And she was pretty sure that even Maggie wouldn't be able to convince them otherwise.

Beth was basically on her own with this challenge. Which meant Merle was right—she needed to figure out what she was working with, figure out how to control it, and make sure she was using it to her advantage. While keeping Papa Legba and all his minions at a safe distance.

She opened Google and stared down at the screen, thumbs hovering over the keyboard. Where was she supposed to start?

_Irish Witch Gift_

She scrolled through results, growing more disappointed by the second. She hadn't expected much, but it appeared that search term wasn't even close to what she was looking for.

_The Gift of Sight_

Nothing supernatural until page 3 of results, and even then, not what she was looking for.

_Seeing past the veil_

Another 3 or 4 pages of results, one or two links that appeared promising. But they didn't provide the answers she needed. Just lots of speculation from obviously unGifted people.

_How to control visiting the other side and keep demons out_

Once again, a lot of speculation and superstitious nonsense. But then, to her surprise, she clicked on a link on page 5 of the results and found something that kept her reading longer than any of the other pages she'd visited.

"_...the first step to channeling and controlling your Third Eye and preventing your Astral Self from projecting past The Veil is, of course, meditation. Those with the Gift must remember that mindfulness and connectivity with your Astral Self (sometimes referred to as one's "Visiting Self") is the foundation upon which your power will be built. In order to maintain control and prevent invasion from malevolent forces, one must look inward and become well-acquainted with both their Third Eye and their Astral Self. So well-acquainted that you can, eventually, maintain control with a fully conscious mind, even while the physical body is unconscious…"_

Okay, that was pretty interesting. And it seemed to line up with the way Morgan had talked about meditating, and how Florence had warned against wandering towards places unknown.

Beth kept reading, and though the rest of the article seemed to have been written by someone who did not have any personal experience with possessing a Gift, the advice it offered was helpful regardless. Perhaps this author had known someone who was Gifted, or maybe they were a slightly ignorant Seer like Lady Jadis. Beth reckoned that actual Witches like Florence and Morgan weren't spending their time writing how-to guides on the internet. But maybe this was the next best thing.

"_...and during the Full Moon, those who possess the Gift may find themselves more capable—and more vulnerable—than any other time of the lunar cycle. With the exception of All Hallow's Eve, during which The Veil is at its thinnest and the border between Here and The Other Side is more accessible, the Full Moon may bring about abilities and offer Sights that would otherwise be unattainable for even the most experienced Seer. It is important to remember, as with any Gift, that the key to safety and control is __**intent**__. The Gifted must be self-assured, confident in their choices, and certain of where they want to go, who they wish to speak to, and/or what they wish to See. The most common mistake made by untrained Seers? Allowing their emotions to determine the destination. Those with the Gift must remain vigilant at all times, as their powers stem from their emotional energy, both consciously and subconsciously. The old adage "be careful what you wish for" could be applied to such circumstances, albeit crassly…"_

"What'cha readin'?" Merle piped up, still sitting in the desk chair and watching Beth curiously.

She ignored him and kept her eyes glued to the screen of her phone, taking mental notes on the things the article was explaining that lined up with what she'd already learned. A plan was starting to form in her head: maybe she could take advantage of being asleep tonight. Maybe she could use it as practice for whatever was to come tomorrow, because surely visiting The Governor's old workplace would spark _some_ kind of vision. She didn't want to be caught off-guard again.

"Did you actually _Google_ it?" Merle asked. Her silence seemed to be the only response he needed. He snorted and teased, "I was just kiddin', ya know. I'on't think the internet's gonna have any _real _advice fer a baby Witch."

At that, her eyes snapped up and met his, and she quipped back, "Well you'd be wrong, 'cause I found an article that's pretty damn helpful so far." She went back to reading, but not before adding, "And I'm not a _baby_ Witch. If I'm smart about this, I could be just as powerful as Morgan."

Merle _hmph_ed and leaned back in his seat with a frown. "Then why don't you ask _him_ for help? Ain't nothin' Google's gonna teach ya that he couldn't."

Beth raised her head and looked over at the dead Dixon with piqued interest. "That's a… good point."

He furrowed his brow. "It is?"

She smirked, a lightbulb going off in her head. How had she not thought of this before? "You can like, _teleport_—right?"

Merle appeared a bit confused and, still frowning, responded slowly, "I… s'pose. 'F that's what ya wanna call it. Why?"

She set her phone down for a moment and sat up, then she explained, "Because, Morgan is nearly six hours away and it's not like he's got an email or a phone. But you're a ghost, you can teleport, he can see you—so you could take my questions to him an' bring me back the answers. Like long-distance training."

His frown deepened and he grunted in disagreement. "Now why the hell would I do that?"

"Because it would help me solve your murder, _obviously_."

"After you said you's gonna banish me anyway? Nah, fuck that. You want ol' Merle's help now, but las' time you got it, ya said it wasn't _good enough_."

Beth sighed. But she'd already been prepared for backlash. She kept her voice calm and steady, quiet enough that the rest of her family wouldn't hear her from down the hall. "You said I need to learn how to control this Gift—that I need to take the reins. And I'm _agreeing_ with you, Merle. I _do_ need to learn more about it, I need guidance. But how am I supposed to get that if you're gonna fight me the whole way?"

He narrowed his eyes, though he wasn't glaring at her with contempt just yet. In fact, he appeared to be listening and measuring her words. Telling him that he was right was sure to catch his attention, she knew.

"I'ono. Reckon you'll _really_ be on yer own once ya banish me away, though. You made yer bed, blondie. Now lie in it."

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes, maintaining her cool and collected attitude. She really had to turn on the persuasion tactics if she wanted to get any kind of cooperation from Merle. Which meant she'd have to go back on the promise she'd made during the peak of her anger.

"I'm not gonna banish you. I was just… frustrated. I wouldn't do that, though."

He scoffed. "Sure sounded like you was gonna do it."

"Well, I wasn't and I'm still not," Beth insisted.

"Then admit it."

"What? I just did."

"Nah, I wanna hear you _say_ it. Say you aren't gonna banish me, an' that you were _wrong_. Admit that ya need my help just as much as I need yours."

Beth pursed her lips and gave him an incredulous look. "…Really?"

Merle leaned forward in his seat, both hands on his knees, and spat, "Yeah, _really_! An' you gotta mean it, too."

Well, unless she wanted to make a six-hour drive every time she needed Morgan's guidance, this was her only choice. As much as she despised how it felt to practically _beg _Merle Dixon for anything.

She swallowed her pride with a tight throat and spoke as plainly as she could, "Okay, Merle. I was _wrong_. I need your help just as much as you need mine, and I'm _not_ gonna banish you."

He flashed a smile of satisfaction. "Now that's more like it. Good ta hear you talkin' some sense for once." Then his mouth quickly curled downwards again and he said, "But you think I'mma just be yer li'l messenger boy 'cause you got some ugly Voodoo statue to hold over my head? Think again, _princess_."

She sighed quietly and retained composure, pushing back the frustration that wanted to escape through her tone of voice. "Okay. Fine. Then let's make a deal."

He quirked a brow and sneered. "Real fuckin' _funny_."

"No, I'm serious," she said. "I'll make a deal with you: if you agree to help me communicate with Morgan, I promise _not_ to banish you."

He paused, contemplating her offer and sucking on his teeth. Then he asked, "Till when? Till I spout off an' hurt yer feelings again? Or jus' till you get what ya want outta me an' decide I ain't convenient to have around no more?"

"Never. Not until you cross over. Not even if you get on my nerves," Beth insisted. "If we can cooperate with each other, I won't _want_ to banish you. I'll put the Djab Idol in the back of my closet, I won't even _think_ about it. I promise."

Merle's distrust wasn't fading. "Yer promises don't mean shit to me."

She was about to give up on biting her tongue and start telling him what she really thought, but he quickly added:

"I want you ta swear it. On yer mama's grave."

_Asshole_.

Could she really be upset though, when Daryl had asked the same of her just a few days ago?

Before she had a chance to overthink it or doubt the reliability of Merle Dixon—dead _or_ alive—Beth was meeting his glare with a determined look of her own.

"If you help me, I _swear_ I won't banish you… I swear it on my mother's grave."

Merle clucked his tongue and crossed his arms over his chest, letting the moment draw out. Then he let out a low and malicious chuckle.

"I'll _think_ about it."

She opened her mouth to retaliate when he suddenly disappeared. She waited a few seconds, looking around suspiciously, but he didn't reappear. She couldn't even feel his presence anymore.

She scowled and muttered aloud, "Bastard."

_Dixons sure as hell ain't turnips, _she remembered. _Considering I'm the one being bled dry._

* * *

Beth spent the next fifteen or twenty minutes skimming every article she could find that related to the one she'd just read. But there didn't seem to be any more information available, at least not pertaining to her specific Gift. There was one constant throughout every piece of text: meditation and "control." Apparently, Merle was far more correct than he could've possibly guessed—either that, or he'd learned a valuable lesson from visiting The Crossroads. Because the biggest problem being addressed in all the articles she read was "maintaining control of the destination" and "returning." And the solution was consistently said to be intent, purpose, confidence, and mindfulness.

That was a lot to juggle at once. When she thought about the brief visits she'd made to… _other_ _places_… she couldn't help but recall how scared she'd been, how weak and aimless she'd felt. Like she could be dragged back and forth without resistance because she wasn't even aware that she was supposed to resist the tugs at her soul. Hell, she wasn't aware that she was _capable_ of resisting those tugs. She didn't know _how_ to push when they pulled, and vise versa.

Which meant she had a lot to learn. Where to start?

She grabbed her earbuds from the nightstand drawer and opened YouTube on her phone. And a few minutes later, in the darkness of her bedroom, she was intently watching a video about how to meditate.

When the first video ended, she found another for a second opinion. Then she skimmed through a handful more, gathering the most important information and committing it to memory. She revisited the first video and double-checked the offered tips and tricks. Finally, once she felt mostly confident enough, she pulled out her earbuds and set her phone aside.

Sitting up in bed, Beth pushed the blankets aside and sat atop the sheets with her legs criss-crossed in front of her. She rested her hands on her knees, shut her eyes, and began to breathe. And she counted. And breathed. One. In. Two. Out. Three. In. Four. Out.

She focused on feeling her arms, every last muscle and nerve, then her legs, then the deepest innards of her chest and stomach. She breathed steady and even, relaxing her body until it felt nearly weightless. She remembered the instructions and tips she'd just absorbed, trying to put them all to work.

She listened to her heart beating in her ears. The oxygen entering her body, circulating through her veins, and exiting her barely parted lips. The feather-light sensation that was beginning to turn her bones to dust and lift her body off the bed entirely.

_Intent,_ she remembered, mechanically reciting it to herself inside her mind. _Mindfulness. I'm Beth Greene. I am Gifted. I will control this. I am the one steering this vessel. Allow me to drift along._

The combination of the articles she'd read and the videos she'd watched was a lot to remember, but she wasn't allowing doubt to creep in and ruin her attempt. She was adamant about being confident and _remaining_ confident. It was _her_ mind. She would only let it take her where she wanted to go. No farther.

And then, it just kind of… happened.

She wasn't sure if it was the breathing or the mantra inside her head, or maybe a combination of both, but she finally relaxed to the point that she _did it_. While still fully conscious, she floated off her bed and away entirely.

Well, kind of.

When she opened her eyes, she was still sitting on her bed, surrounded by the same four walls she'd grown up in. But there were _differences_.

The first she noticed was the strange heaviness that weighed in her gut, like some sort of lead weight keeping her feet planted, while the rest of her body felt light-as-air and almost nonexistent. And then, of course, the absence of the soft buzz of energy and life that usually hummed in her ears. It wasn't complete silence, though. Not like her previous visits to places unknown.

Next, she noticed the bare walls and sparse furniture that occupied the room, none of which she could recognize. There was also daylight pouring in through the windows, even though the white curtains were too thick to see past and she _knew _it was nighttime right now.

Her heart was still beating, but only faintly. She could hear it like a slowed-down drumbeat in her ears. Her breathing remained deep and steady all on its own.

Before she could look around and take in her surroundings, she was distracted by an incessant and painful itching sensation across her chest, down her arms, and all the way up her back. She reminded herself to remain calm, to remain _present _and _in control_, and braced herself for whatever she might find when she looked down.

And it was a good thing she did, because she was horrified to see that her entire torso was covered in angry, buzzing wasps. They were writhing and squirming against her skin, desperately trying to jab their stingers into her flesh. Their buzzing grew louder and angrier, filling her ears and nearly drowning out the sound of her own heartbeat.

But then she took a deep breath and listened harder: there was a voice somewhere behind the buzzing. Someone was trying to speak to her over the noise of the wasps. She focused on the voice and pushed the buzzing away, exhaling long and slow.

It finally broke through, vague yet familiar: "Bethy, that sweater is made of wasps. Take that thing off, you don't need to be wearing clothes like that."

Beth spoke quietly on her next exhale, "Mama?"

"Of course it's your mama. Now change your sweater, baby. It's not even your size."

"Yes, ma'am."

How silly was she to have been wearing this thing in the first place? Of course it wasn't her size. These wasps wanted to kill her.

She continued her rhythmic breathing as she lifted her hands and carefully pulled the sweater off without disturbing the agitated wasps. Then she held it aside and dropped it to the floor. The sweater disintegrated as the wasps hit the ground and burst upward in a buzzing swarm. But instead of flying towards her, they flew across the room and straight out the window, disappearing behind the white curtains. The buzzing faded away in the distance until the only sound Beth could hear was her own heart and lungs.

She looked down at her torso, expecting to find the damage left by a thousand sharp stingers. But there was none to be seen. She was wearing a plain white T-shirt, hands and arms unblemished, tiny gold cross hanging from around her throat and glistening where it rested on her chest.

Her mother's voice filled her ears again, seemingly coming from nowhere and everywhere at the same time: "Sweetheart, your wrist. Why did you open that back up?"

Beth looked down and saw her wrist—oh, that's right, her scar. It was opened up, fresh as the day she'd run the razor across her skin. It didn't hurt, though. It was just bleeding. Warm crimson liquid seeped from the cut, leaking down her arm and dribbling onto her blue jeans.

What a hassle.

Why had she done that to herself? Had she been dripping blood and making a mess this whole time?

"Whoops."

"Over there," her mom's voice instructed. "It's already healed, you just gotta keep it closed, honey."

She looked to her left and saw a cardboard box sitting on the floor, open and unlabelled. She couldn't really see what was inside, but there was a roll of gauze unraveled and spilling out over the top. She reached over and grabbed it.

"That's it," Annette's disembodied voice coaxed.

As Beth carefully wrapped the gauze around her bleeding wrist, words scrawled in black marker appeared on the stark white fabric, fading away just as quickly as they showed up. Layer after layer, words upon words upon words that had been spoken to her, that had been burned into her memory. Their voices rang clear as day in the depths of her mind as the black ink appeared and disappeared:

_You're gonna be okay… We love you… Do you think this is what Mama would want for you?… I'd be lost without you… How am I supposed to go on knowing you're not here?... How can you give up like this? On yourself? On us? On me?… I won't be the brother of a dead girl… I'd lose my mind if I had to bury you… If I'd known how bad this had gotten, I never would've left your side… You're not in this alone… So many people love you, Bethy… You really think taking the easy way out will give you peace? What about our peace?... Daddy needs you. I need you… You didn't really wanna die, right?… I would always blame myself… Should I keep praying, Doodlebug? Or should I let the Good Lord take me right along with you? If that's what you want, then what kind of father would I be to deny you?... I'd be right behind you, baby sister… You tried to kill yourself?... You were very much meant to be here—exactly as you are, exactly where you are, and exactly as you'll ever be… Here's not here… You have a Gift, Beth Greene._

But she read them all, wrapping and securing the gauze. And the weight in her gut got a little heavier each time the print disappeared, each time she wrapped another layer around her open wrist; her wound seeped a little less blood, and her mama's voice became a little more comforting.

"Now doesn't that feel better?"

"It does," Beth agreed softly. There were no more black marker words.

"It healed," Annette said. "But you keep openin' it up. Let the scar take its place, Bethy. Let old wounds be old wounds."

"Okay."

The bleeding stopped. The blood disappeared from Beth's arm and her pants.

And finally, she raised her head and looked around. She observed her bedroom and the unfamiliar objects that filled it. The only piece of furniture she recognized was her bed, because everything else was gone. Her desk had been replaced with a large maroon suitcase, filled to bursting and tightly zipped. The place where her dresser normally resided was now occupied by a stack of cardboard boxes, all of them sealed up and unlabelled, towering higher than Beth was tall. The open box that held the gauze was sitting where her nightstand should've been. Her closet door was no longer there, replaced by a bare expanse of wall. And where her vanity usually sat was another suitcase—larger and all black, the kind of suitcase that people checked into baggage at the airport when they flew across the country. It was zipped up tight with a small combination lock securing it shut.

The words poured from Beth's mouth uninhibited, "I don't think I'm gonna try to unpack those just yet."

Her mother's voice responded, "That's probably a good idea. There's a time and place for everything, dear."

Beth glanced around, her eyes landing on the closed bedroom door. It looked the same, but there was a long, translucent, curtain-like piece of fabric hanging over it. Like a veil. The ends rustled against the wood floor, disturbed by the same unseen breeze that blew through the curtains of the windows.

"There's not much space in here to unpack anyhow, is there?" Annette mused.

"No, not yet," Beth replied simply. Confidently. "You're not really my mama, are you?"

"Of course not, Bethany. Don't be silly." It was her mother's tone, the exact way Annette would correct her daughter—sharp and quick, but gentle all the same.

Beth already knew it wasn't her, though. And that was okay.

"You're just a figment of my imagination," Beth said.

"In the simplest terms, yes," her mama's voice agreed. "Isn't it funny?"

"Finding out what I'm really capable of when I actually put my mind to it?" Beth smiled to herself. "Yeah. It is pretty funny. Who knew it'd be this easy."

"Don't get ahead of yourself, now. You've got a long road ahead, and you've only just begun. Remember?"

"Right. I remember. I have to be confident—"

"—but you can't get _cocky_."

"Yeah."

She breathed in deep and slow, looking around curiously. Her eyes drifted across the veiled door once more. She stood up from the bed, unable to feel the hard wood beneath her bare feet, and willed herself to take a step forward. Her legs obeyed. She paused, waiting for her mama's voice to pipe up again. But it didn't.

"I need guidance, I think," she said aloud.

"You _think_?" Annette's voice asked.

"No, I _know_," Beth reiterated. "I _know_ I need guidance. From someone who can teach me how to control my Gift and become as powerful as I'm supposed to be. But what I don't know is how to communicate like that."

"Intent, honey. _Purpose_. You wanna talk to someone specific… right?"

"Yes. Florence Newton. I want to talk to her like Maggie got to talk to her."

"Sweetie… Maggie never _wanted_ to talk to her. That was all Florence's idea. That was the Witch of Youghal's doing. If she could visit you like that today, I'm sure she would've already done so."

"I know. But that's what I want. She spoke to me once already—in a dream. When I couldn't control it. I have to speak to her again, when I _can_ control it."

"No need to explain to me, Bethy," Annette's voice assured. "I already know everythin' you know. And I _only_ know what you know."

"Right. I knew that."

"So, where are you gonna start? No use puttin' off for tomorrow what can be done today."

The weight in Beth's gut grew warm at the sound of one of her mama's favorite and often-used phrases. She took in a slow, deep breath, staring at the veiled door with unblinking eyes.

A soft growling sound caught her attention and she whipped her head around to look at the window across from the door. Sitting on the windowsill with thick white curtains billowing around it was a large brown barn owl. Its yellow eyes met hers with curiosity and it lazily flapped its wings, feathers ruffling all the way up its head. But instead of the usual owl sounds—like hooting or beak-clicking or quiet _chirrups_—it was growling from somewhere deep in its gullet.

Beth turned her body and approached the owl, stopping about a foot away and staring at the creature. Its soft growling turned to hissing, growing quieter as she leaned in and smiled.

She'd never seen this owl before in her life, but it felt _familiar_. She recognized it beneath the bright amber eyes and the brown feathers and the tiny golden beak. It growled again and her smile widened.

"Oh, look who came to visit," Annette's voice cooed.

"Hi, Tabitha," Beth greeted, reaching out a hand and running the back of her knuckles over the owl's downy-soft head.

Tabitha leaned into Beth's hand and her big amber eyes closed, the growling from her gullet morphing into a deep and content purr. She snapped her beak and emitted a sound that seemed to be a mixture of hooting and hissing, and when Beth pulled her hand back, Tabitha spread her wings and leapt backwards off the windowsill. The curtains fluttered back into place and Beth stepped away, still smiling.

"You're never as alone as you think," her mama's voice said. "There are so many _good_ souls on your side, sweetheart. Can't you see that now?"

"I always saw it," Beth said. "I just never bothered to stop and appreciate it."

"Like your daddy always said: _better late than never_."

"Yeah. No kiddin'."

"What else is it your daddy likes to say?"

"'_Don't shoot the messenger'_?"

"That's the one." Annette's chuckle filled Beth's ears. "Never quite to the extreme that you're dealing with, but he certainly meant it. He was always playin' referee between you kids."

Beth wanted to smile, but it had faded. "This is a lot more serious than playin' referee, though."

"Because you're not playing referee at all. You're choosing to do the right thing… like we taught you."

"At the cost of my own pride."

"That's a cheap price to pay in this situation, though. He's not so awful as he makes himself out to be. You know that. You also know that you're still the one making the choice. And he's still getting the short end of the stick. Like he always has."

Beth frowned and an odd sensation filled her chest. "That's not fair."

Annette's voice made a sound of sympathy and said, "_Life's_ not fair, Bethy. We've been over this time and time again."

Beth sighed. "I know."

She turned away from the window and a change in the environment immediately caught her eye. Where her closet door normally was had been a blank wall, but now it was replaced with a door. Not her closet door, though. This door was taller, wider, painted navy blue and padlocked shut. Its wood was thicker and more sturdy, aged but impenetrable.

"What's in there?" She asked.

"We can't open that yet," her mama's voice replied. "Remember what you read? About the difference between meditating and sleeping?"

"Oh," Beth said. "Right. I remember."

"You have another busy day ahead of you. Maybe you oughta call it a night and focus on gettin' some rest, honey."

She exhaled a deep, measured breath. "Yeah. Maybe."

But something was tugging at the weight in her gut, pulling her towards the veiled door of her bedroom. She focused on keeping her feet planted to the floor as she slowly turned and faced the door.

_Knock knock knock. _

She remained calm. Breathed in. Breathed out. Kept her lips tightly shut. Her mama's voice had gone silent.

_Knock knock. Knock knock. Knock._

Another deep breath in. And out again. A shadow flickered across the floor, silhouetted by the deep red light leaking in through the crack between the door and the floor. She kept breathing.

Mindfulness. Intent. Purpose. Control.

_Knock knock._

"Doodlebug, open up! It's yer daddy."

Beth froze. It sounded exactly like Hershel. She inhaled sharply, nearly losing control for the briefest flash of a second.

But she quickly reminded herself to focus on her breathing, to keep it steady, to listen to the incessant pounding of her own heart.

_Thu-ump. Thu-ump. Thu-ump. _

"Don't lock me out, Sunshine Girl. Listen to your father."

Daddy?

Her mama's voice rang in her ears, "That's _not_ your daddy. You know how dangerous your Gift can be. You're not a naive little girl anymore. Don't open the door, Beth."

Of course. She knew that.

She _knew _that. Dammit.

_Knock knock knock knock._

"Bethany, you'd better open this damn door—"

"Go away!" Beth cried out. "I know it's you, Papa Legba. You can't fool me. You're _not_ welcome here and you'll _never_ get in."

Her father's voice was replaced with laughter, high and cold. Then the sound of long fingernails tapping against the outside of the door, clicking out a taunting rhythm that sent chills up her spine.

"You can't keep me out forever, Visitor," Papa Legba threatened through the door. "There's nothing I hate more than tourists. And the rest of Hell agrees with me."

Annette's voice spoke up, steady and reassuring, "He's full of it, Bethy. He's a demon. The only thing he hates is the idea of a woman havin' the upper hand."

"How predictable," Beth remarked. She turned around and headed back to her bed. "I think it's time to go back now. If I can figure out how."

"You figured out how to get here, didn't you? Gettin' back will be a breeze. You've always been a quick learner, babygirl. Just like your mama."

Beth smiled as she climbed back onto her bed and returned to the place she'd been sitting. "Yeah."

Daryl's face flitted across her vision—fleeting and surprising, yet reassuring in a way. She remembered his bike. The cemetery. His calloused hand. The breeze in her hair. The look in his eyes. The scent of the wildflowers. The tone of his voice. _"You're a good woman…"_

Another reason to get back. Another kind of purpose.

"Just like my mama."

The knocking ceased. Papa Legba had gone silent. And Beth closed her eyes peacefully.

**to be continued… **


	47. Okay, It's Definitely My First Rodeo

**Okay, It's Definitely My First Rodeo**

Beth kept her eyes shut and her head clear.

Mindfulness. Intent. Purpose. _Control_.

She focused on feeling every muscle and nerve within her feet and legs. Then her arms and hands. Then her torso. Until the sensation of being solid was returning and filling her neck, dribbling down her spine like warm water. Until her flesh and bones no longer felt like dust floating on a gentle breeze. The heavy weight in her gut gradually lightened until she was certain she could remain grounded without it. Then it faded away entirely.

The soft buzz of energy and life filled her ears once more, the final reassurance that she'd made it back to where she belonged. Safely. _Confidently_.

She slowly opened her eyes and blinked a few times, her back stiffening as she looked around. It was still her same old bedroom, just as she knew it, and it was still nighttime. She glanced at the clock and saw that only ten minutes had passed since she'd made her first attempt at meditation.

"Wow," she breathed out, unable to contain her astonishment.

Another look around and she was reassured that Merle hadn't returned yet. Which meant she was still completely alone.

"_Wow_," she said aloud again. A grin was spreading across her face.

She'd done it. She'd fucking _done it_! And all it took was a little focus. Some intent. Some damn _purpose_. Who could've guessed?!

Reflexively, Beth lifted a hand and grasped for the cross hanging around her neck. She found it, pinching it tighty between two fingers and letting out a soft hum of contentment. She knew it wasn't _really_ her mama inside her own head, but _man_, was she glad that her subconscious had chosen that voice. It made the whole thing feel so much easier somehow.

Now if only she could tell Morgan about this progress and get his advice on what she should do next. Where had Merle gone, anyway? Was he really gonna turn down her deal and risk being banished away from her?

Though she knew now, with all prior doubts erased, that she _couldn't_ banish him. Not that she necessarily intended to in the first place. It was an option, but not really. He needed her. And… yeah. She kinda needed him, too. Unfortunately.

She couldn't rely on him one hundred percent, though. That would just be foolish. And she still wanted—no, _needed_—to speak to Florence Newton.

It was just a case of figuring out _how_ to contact the Witch of Youghal. Without stepping too far and risking her own soul again. Did the padlocked door inside her mind have something to do with it? Was Florence waiting for her somewhere on the other side of that heavy wood?

Or was something _else_ waiting for her?

Well, maybe. But Beth was inclined to believe that whatever was behind that door wouldn't harm her. She'd seen The Veil. She'd approached it. And she'd heard Papa Legba taunting her from The Other Side. Yet she'd kept it shut. She'd resisted his tricks and denied the urge to let him in.

So what were the odds that evil was lying in wait for her behind _both_ doors?

_Crap. I don't know, _she admitted to herself.

She remembered what her mama's voice had told her; reminded herself of what she'd read about the differences between sleeping and meditating. She still didn't know nearly as much as she should about what—or _who_—she could and couldn't access through either states. And she wasn't sure if she was willing to take the risk and find out by diving in head-first.

Yet something about that navy blue door had _called_ to her.

Once again, she was desperately wishing she could talk to Morgan again. Or better yet, contact Florence Newton. She had so many damn questions that the internet would never be able to answer.

She threw her legs over the side of the bed and glanced around her dark bedroom. Was Merle really gone for the night? The one time she actually _needed_ him?

"Merle," she whispered out, waiting and half-expecting him to pop up, as though speaking his name aloud would summon him. When he didn't appear, and she still couldn't feel so much as a trace of his presence, she spoke a little louder. "_Merle!_ Merle Dixon, you come back here right now, or…"

Nothing.

With a sigh, Beth climbed out of bed and walked with ginger footsteps across the floor, stopping in front of her mirror. She could barely see her own reflection, but she kept her eyes open and staring at the glass.

"Merle Dixon… Merle Dixon… _Merle Dixon…_"

She held her breath for a moment. But when nothing happened, she let it out and rolled her eyes. She quickly turned away from the mirror, embarrassed by her own dumb face.

_Stupid,_ she admonished herself. _He's not Bloody friggin' Mary, why would I even bother trying such a stupid thing… _

She spoke aloud one more time: "Merle, I _need_ your help. I really do. I won't banish you, okay? I mean it. And I'll tell you that you're right as much as you want, as long as you help me out here."

She must've stood in the middle of her bedroom for at least five minutes, slowly looking around and willing Merle to reappear—or at least, to _hear_ her calling out to him. But she was met with only silence. And the noticeable lack of a paranormal presence, dead or otherwise.

_So now I'm getting the cold shoulder from a dead guy, _Beth scoffed and went back to bed. She lay down and stared up at her ceiling with discontent. _I guess this is my life now._

She reached over and grabbed her phone, checking on the off-chance that Daryl might've texted back. But there were no new messages. He'd probably gone to bed and fallen asleep by now. Like she should be.

But how could she fall asleep when she was still buzzing with excitement over her success?

As it turns out, pretty easily.

Beth was still smiling when she closed her eyes, intending to rest her eyelids for a few seconds. And then, she was slipping into unconsciousness. Just like that.

_Mindfulness. Intent._

Luckily, her mind was still on high-alert, even as her body relaxed. She hadn't planned to drift off, but just in case the physical exhaustion managed to take over, she'd been sure to focus her thoughts on something other than the Dixons or Philip or Papa Legba.

She'd focused them instead on the Witch of Youghal; on every little detail Maggie had shared from her childhood memory; on her bone-deep desire to speak face-to-face with Florence Newton herself. Even if it was Florence's ghost. Beth didn't care. She just wanted the chance to experience a meeting like Maggie had been given—a chance to ask the most important questions. A chance to find out if she was doing this Witch thing correctly.

She also _really_ wanted to know what was behind that padlocked door.

* * *

_Purpose. Control._

_Beth slowly opened her eyes and, for a split-second, forgot that she was asleep. But then it came back to her just as suddenly. The complete silence in her ears, the feather-light sensation that filled her entire body, the confusion muddling her head. The memory of lying down in her bed and falling asleep._

_Okay. So this was a dream. Or… something. She was asleep. So that might mean that she could do more than what she'd done during meditation. Or she was mistaken. Either way, she was still in her bedroom, perched on the edge of her bed. Confused. Disoriented._

_There was no sunlight pouring in through the windows this time. Everything was dark, dimly lit even though she couldn't spot any lamps within eyesight. All of her furniture and belongings were exactly where they were supposed to be. The room itself was nearly indistinguishable from her actual bedroom. Even the posters on the wall and the pictures on the desk were the same._

_But there were little details that she immediately picked up on: her phone was missing from where she knew she'd left it plugged in atop her nightstand, the mirror on the wall was the one that Merle had broken rather than the one that her dad had brought up from storage to replace it, and her bedroom door was shrouded in a long, translucent cloth veil—just like it had been inside her mind._

_Something flickered in the corner of her eye and she quickly glanced over to find that her closet door had transformed while she wasn't looking. It had been replaced by the big, thick, navy blue door that she'd seen inside her mind while meditating. The padlock remained. As did the unseen tug from somewhere within the depths of her chest that urged her in the door's direction._

_It was calling to her again._

_But what was waiting behind it? And why was it padlocked shut?_

_Maybe it was for her own protection. Or maybe it was for someone else's… _

_She wished she could hear her mom's voice again. But at the same time, she knew that voice was no more than a disguise for her own subconscious. She didn't need guidance through this place. She was already smart enough. Already strong enough._

_She wasn't a naive little girl anymore. She had a Gift._

_Purpose. Intent._

_Beth stood up from her bed and realized she was dressed in the same outfit as before: a plain white T-shirt and blue jeans. But she was wearing shoes this time. And not just shoes—her favorite pair of boots._

_Cool. Good. That had to be a positive sign, right? The fact that she'd gone from being barefoot inside her own mind to wearing her best pair of boots in her dreaming state? It certainly wasn't a bad sign._

_Then she blinked. And rather than seeing her clothes and shoes, she saw bright yellow tendrils—like thick tentacles or vines, or an odd hybrid of both—reaching out from every one of her limbs. She barely felt them, and she most definitely couldn't control them. They seemed to be moving on their own accord, reaching out and worming around, ominously searching for prey._

_There was one leaking out from her right hand, another from her left hand; one from her left foot and an identical from her right foot; the final yellow tendril emerged and stretched out from her core. It burst forth from an unseen opening just below her breasts._

_And that one… the tentacle-like vine reaching out from within her core… that one, she could __**feel**__. Similar to the wordless calling from the navy blue door, yet a million times more palpable._

_Each vine was fluorescent yellow, emitting from an untraceable source within Beth's body. They inched their ways outward, each one stretching in a different direction._

_The tentacle-vine from her right hand inched its way towards the veiled bedroom door. The one from her right foot was reaching for the window at the other side of the room, while the one from her left foot was slinking slowly across the floor in the direction of the darkness that lay beneath the bed. And the one from her left hand was writhing in mid-air beside her body, as though it couldn't decide what it wanted to do with itself._

_The further each vine reached out, the more sensation she experienced. Very suddenly, she was able to feel all five tentacle-vines that were currently stretching outwards and tugging her in opposite directions._

_However, the one from her center had stretched itself far enough down to reach the floor, and now it was squirming its way forward. It was inching, slowly and gradually, towards the navy blue door._

_The sound of familiar voices drifted in from somewhere outside the open window. They reached Beth's ears as no more than faint whispers or distant cries, but they reverberated through her bones with realization._

"_We aren't doormats, Beth. You have a Gift, not a curse."_

"_You are the one in power here, Beth." _

"_Reckon you oughta grab the reins on this Gift, girlfriend. Otherwise we're gonna be in fer one hell of a disappointing rodeo."_

_That's right: she had to remember she was in control. She had to maintain it. How could she have forgotten?_

_As soon as she put a little willpower into it, the fluorescent yellow tentacle-vines began to slowly retract. They stopped reaching forward, and Beth managed to reel them back in with the same effort it took to inhale a deep breath. Until they'd disappeared inside her limbs. She could still feel them, but they weren't writhing outward anymore._

_Except for the one._

_The one that protruded forth from her core, stretching and slowly reaching for the navy blue door._

_She took a tentative step forward. Then another. The tentacle-vine didn't stretch out any longer, though it was still writhing before her and desperately reaching towards the door. _

_She took another step. And a deep breath. She paused. Watched the glowing, yellow, vine-like thing squirm around outside her chest. Tried to figure out why it wanted to keep moving forward. Why it wouldn't retract like the other tendrils had. Then she took one more step._

_She stood before the navy blue door. The yellow tentacle-vine stretched out and barely tickled the wood with its tip. But Beth felt the shock course through her body at the contact._

_Without hesitation, she reached out and grasped the copper doorknob._

_But how would she open this padlock?_

_Despite everything that told her she would need to find a key, her first instinct was to turn the doorknob. So she did. And she gave it a strong tug. The padlock popped open and fell off, hitting the floor with a clatter of metal against wood. Beth took a half-step to the side and pulled the heavy door open the rest of the way. _

_Well. That was easy enough._

_The tentacle-vine from her core finally retracted. She could no longer see it, but she could still feel it settled somewhere between her stomach and her heart. Nonetheless, she stepped through the doorway and didn't bother looking back._

_The sky was completely gray. There was no hint of sunshine, or even the presence of the sun itself. Nothing but endless dark clouds and a somber atmosphere. The wind was nonexistent, yet a chill ran through the air. Like electricity, but colder. More shocking. More numbing. She felt the tentacle-vines writhing around beneath her skin at the tips of her limbs, but she kept them withheld. She controlled them._

_She knew they were emitting a fluorescent marigold haze around her, silhouetting her entire form and practically setting her aglow. But she didn't allow herself to think on it too much._

_There was no time for that—things like fear and doubt. She simply wanted to see the Witch of Youghal._

_The ground beneath her was all pebbles and rocks and sand. There was the slightest hint of salt in the air, mixed with sulphur and decay. And in the far-off distance, the faint sound of screams._

_She stepped forward. To her right was a dense forest, everything beyond the treeline turned black. To her left was a vast lake, the water dark and still and ominous, no horizon in sight. And farther to her left, several yards away from the shore, was the jutting cliff that she'd stood upon with Papa Legba. She recognized it immediately. She stopped and gazed over at it._

_Sitting atop the perch were Legba's Hellhounds. There were thick steel chains around their necks, tethering them to an unseen post stuck into the ground. They stood at the edge of the cliff, completely still. And when Beth looked up and met their gaze, she could feel the anger that pulsated around them. She could see it in the glowing red eyes that glared down at her, in the way their upper lips curled over their razor-sharp teeth. She could hear their quiet snarls and threatening growls, even though she wasn't close enough to actually hear it._

"_Fuck you, Legba," she said aloud, turning away from the Hounds and taking another step forward._

_The tendrils within her stirred, but they didn't attempt to reach out._

_There was something within view from up ahead. She kept walking, eyes set on the blurred image. And when she was finally close enough to discern what it was, her pace slowed. She didn't bother trying not to stare. How could she __**not**__ stare?_

_It was an old wooden rowboat resting at the water's edge on the shore. And standing beside it, like some kind of guardian, was a figure draped in a big black cloak. Their face was shrouded in shadows beneath a hood, and one skeletal hand stuck out from within the darkness of cloth to grasp a scythe. Its blade was sharp, the metal gleaming in non-existent sunlight._

_Beth had to take several more steps and walk directly past the rowboat—and the hooded Death-like figure—to see the cardboard sign that was posted at the bow of the boat. It read: __**Reserved For Merle Dixon**__._

_She dared offer a glance towards the cloaked form. She could feel the disapproval despite being unable to see the figure's face. Then, a deep voice emitted from somewhere beneath the cloak:_

"_Keep walking, Visitor."_

_She chose to obey and quickly looked away, forcing herself to keep her eyes ahead and keep her feet moving._

_As she passed by and the rowboat disappeared from her periphery, she heard the same deep voice let out a scoff. Followed by a passive-aggressive mutter, "Fucking tourists."_

_She ignored him and continued on. The tendril within her core urged her forward, and she cautiously followed its silent beckoning. Until she was approaching the other end of the lakefront, stepping closer to the darkness of the treeline. Only then did she stop and hesitate._

_Beth could feel herself being pushed to walk forward, like an invisible hand pressed gently to her back. She glanced around warily, unable to see what was lying in wait for her within the trees._

_Then she heard humming—a woman's humming. Soft and somber, barely loud enough to discern. But it was drifting into her ears from behind the treeline. So she followed the sound, as well as the internal tug that was urging her in the same direction._

_When she crossed from rocks to undergrowth and stepped into the thicket of the trees, she found herself surrounded by complete darkness. But she could still hear the humming, so she kept walking forward, slow and cautious. It only took half a dozen steps before the darkness faded away and opened into a grove. One more step forward and she realized she'd entered a small clearing. Scattered beams of late evening sunlight shone down through the gaps in the canopy of branches and leaves above. Every side was lined with more thick, dark trees. And the humming had grown louder._

_An old woman was sitting at a small wooden table in the center of the clearing, her back to Beth. There was another chair across from her, sitting unoccupied._

_The woman was humming. Her hair was long and gray, intricately braided all the way down her back. There was a cane resting beside her._

"_Come sit, wee Beth. Have some tea."_

_She recognized that voice. The light Irish accent._

"_Florence Newton," Beth said._

_The old woman chuckled and finally turned her head to look back at Beth. She was smiling, green eyes sparkling. "Were yeh expecting someone else?"_

"_I didn't know what to expect," Beth admitted._

"_Don't be rude, lass," Florence said, turning back to the teacup grasped in her hands. "Sit. I've already poured you a cup."_

"_Right, I'm sorry," Beth apologized, hurriedly walking forward and taking the seat across from the Witch of Youghal. "I didn't mean to be rude."_

_Florence smiled at her and gestured to the steaming teacup sitting in front of Beth. "That's quite alright."_

_Beth took a sip of the tea and felt the warmth slide down her throat and spread through her whole body. The tendrils writhing beneath her skin seemed to calm and stop stirring. It was the strangest thing._

_Then she asked, "What are you doing here?"_

_Florence blinked, smirking. "What do you think I'm doing here, lass?"_

_Beth shrugged._

"_Well," Florence said. "You called me here."_

"_I did?" Beth asked, confused._

"_Yes, love."_

"_But… how?"_

_Florence raised her eyebrows and took a sip of tea. As she lowered the cup, she replied, "We don't have all night, my dear. Aren't there more important questions to be asked? Perhaps some that you don't already know the answer to…?"_

_Of course. Because Beth __**did**__ actually know how Florence was here. She __**had**__ called her here. She'd come here with intent and purpose. She'd successfully summoned the Witch of Youghal._

_She asked the first question that came to mind: "Why did you visit Maggie years ago? But never me?"_

_Florence remained nonchalant, leisurely sipping tea, and answered, "I'm here now, aren't I? I do not weave the threads of Fate, lass. I'm merely another player in the game."_

_Hm. Okay. Fair enough._

"_So how long do we have?" Beth asked._

_Florence shrugged. "Until we finish our tea." She took another long sip and Beth felt a surge of panic._

"_Then stop drinkin' it so fast," she chided._

_The look of absolute indignation on Florence's face made Beth snap her lips shut._

"_I'm sorry," she immediately apologized. "I didn't mean—that was so rude. I just have so many questions, and I—"_

_To her surprise though, Florence threw her head back and cackled loudly. She was still grinning when her bright green eyes met Beth's again. _

"_My goodness. You are a Greene through-and-through, aren't yeh lass?"_

_Beth smiled back weakly. Unsure._

_But Florence just chuckled and took another sip of tea from her still-steaming cup. She gazed across the table at Beth with nothing less than adoration._

"_Sweet as sugar," she said. "And sharp as a blade. Just as I remember."_

_Beth was truly perplexed now. "But we've never met before."_

_Florence's eyes glinted and she continued smiling. Knowingly, like she had a secret she couldn't wait to reveal. "Of course we have, love. Many lifetimes ago, in the motherland." _

_Beth narrowed her eyes, trying to figure out what the Witch was talking about. "You mean… in Ireland? I don't remember."_

"_And you never will. There was a time when you did—you remembered and you spoke of it, dreamt of it, mourned for it… and then your brain developed and your memories of this life began to form, and all your past knowledge faded away. As it does for every child. As it should. Best not to linger on the skin we've shed, wouldn't you say?"_

_A memory that did not belong to Beth flashed before her eyes for no more than a split-second. She blinked and it was gone._

_Then she said quietly, with a pain that was not her own, "Islandmagee. They were coming to take you away. They were gonna accuse me next. Half the village knew my secret—it was only a matter of time. But I was poor and pregnant. And scared. And you helped me sneak onto a ship… with my husband."_

_Florence smiled, but the sadness shone in her eyes, pooling with unshed tears. "That kind, golden-haired Greene boy with eyes as blue as the ocean itself… You're a spitting image of the ancestor you'll never know, wee Beth." She swiped a wrinkled hand across her eyes, still smiling. "You inherited many traits from that sweet young couple. But most importantly, you inherited that precious girl's Gifts. You inherited her power. It resides deep within your soul. Your old, old soul."_

"_What about Maggie?"_

_The question had formed on Beth's tongue and burst free before she could stop it._

_Without missing a beat, Florence explained, "The poor Gifted girl who sailed away before she could be accused and persecuted had a twin brother. I only met him once. He died shortly before the Witch Hunts began… he was protecting her. I believe they were two halves of a whole; eternally bonded. I may not have known him well, and it may have been centuries since I'd last seen him, but I recognized __**that**__ soul the second it appeared in my dreams. Your sister is predisposed to be ferociously protective. And loving, and loyal to a fault. If that beggar boy had been Gifted in his lifetime, I'm certain he would've chosen to let it fade away. Just as Maggie has. That soul strives only for love and stability. A sense of belonging. Nothing more."_

"_Wow," Beth breathed out. She couldn't stop staring at Florence, the teacup grasped lazily in her hand all but forgotten._

"_Now, surely you didn't come here for a history lesson, did yeh lass?" Florence quirked an eyebrow and took a sip of tea._

"_No, I just got a little side-tracked," Beth admitted. "I need help. With understanding my Gift."_

_Florence nodded towards the teacup in Beth's hand. Beth took a sip and Florence smiled._

"_You seem to be grasping the concept fairly well, aye?"_

"_Well, kind of. But—remember when you spoke to me? In my dream? You warned me about guarding my soul an' venturing too far."_

"_Of course I remember. You were allowing the tide to carry you away with every ebb and flow," Florence said, lowering her cup slowly. "There are many and more who wish to see you fail, who are waiting for the opportunity to drag you below the surface. Your soul is very old and very valuable. You must always keep that in mind, Beth." She clucked her tongue and smiled knowingly. "When the Gifted dream, they must be cautious. For that is when we are at our most powerful… and our most __**vulnerable**__."_

"_So how do I keep the intruders out? Like Papa Legba—"_

_Florence raised a finger and interrupted, "Do not speak his name."_

_Beth snapped her lips shut._

"_He is powerful," the Witch of Youghal went on very sternly, green eyes narrowed and unblinking. "He is ancient. And he abides by very few rules. You've already figured it out on your own, lass. You know how to protect yourself. The key, however, is to remember it; to never allow yourself to underestimate what The Others are capable of."_

"_I have to stay vigilant," Beth recited what she'd read._

_Florence nodded, lowering her finger and wrapping a dainty, weathered hand around her teacup. "Indeed. You are the child born twice, a Greene, a descendant of the most powerful Gifted. Your blood stretches far past the motherland—aye, your soul is older than any I've met."_

_Beth furrowed her brow but didn't speak._

_The Witch went on, a wistful expression in her eyes, "I suppose that's why I felt compelled to reach out years ago. Though I recognized your sister's soul and yearned to communicate with it once more, I would not have risked making myself known unless I knew there was something much larger at stake; an ancient soul endowed with many Gifts, plucked out and recycled from one life to the next for hundreds upon hundreds of years. Spanning continents, enduring wretched civilizations, flowing through every plane of existence like the wind itself. From a Pharaoh, to a Shaman, to a Queen, to a poor peasant girl… And now, here we are. One of the most Gifted souls I have ever encountered, occupying the life of an American farm girl in the twenty-first century, a staunch believer in the western Bible, with no memory of the dozens of lives before this… asking __**me**__ for advice."_

_Florence chuckled to herself and took a long sip of tea. Then she muttered, "We mustn't linger on ages long past, but there is much to be learned from history…"_

"_You spoke through Morgan to get me to ask Maggie about it," Beth said, recalling the feminine voice she'd briefly heard in the Swamp Witch's cabin. "Right? That was you, wasn't it?"_

_Florence nodded and lowered her cup, blinking slowly. "Of course, lass. As I said, I do not weave the threads of Fate. When it is safe for me to intervene, I do such."_

"_Okay." Beth understood. She got it. For reasons she couldn't quite comprehend in this state, it made sense. Sure, there were a bunch of lives she'd lived that were much greater than what she was currently doing. Apparently, she'd learned all these lessons time and time again._

_But that didn't help her now. That wasn't what she'd come here for._

_Best to let old wound be old wounds._

"_So… am I doing it right?" She asked. "I'm tryin' to keep him out, and I'm tryin' to work with this dead guy that needs my help, but it feels like I just keep hitting one roadblock after another. I'm not sure if I can control my Gift like I'm supposed to. I'm not sure I know __**how**__."_

_The Witch of Youghal hummed and smiled, gazing across the table at Beth with a quirked eyebrow. "You've always known how to do what you do, love. Peeking past The Veil comes as easily to you as breathing. It's no more than a case of uncovering hidden talents. Would it bring you assurance to hear me say you're following the correct path?"_

_Beth quickly nodded._

_Florence's smile widened and she laughed. "Aye, lass. I'll admit, I hoped your sister would speak to you much earlier about your inheritance. But it wouldn't be a very fun game for The Others if you had all that advantage, would it? The journey is more important than the destination… or so I've been told."_

"_You sound like Lady Jadis," Beth said, unable to stop herself. It was odd to be here. She couldn't seem to control her own voice, and the thoughts that came to her kept finding their way to her mouth just as suddenly as they formed._

_Florence's smile didn't waver. "Even a broken clock is right twice a day. Not all those Gifted are allowed the timeless knowledge that is shown to the likes of us. But don't fool yourself, child. There __**is**__ a game, and we are no more than the pieces being moved upon a board."_

"_Then how come you can see so far into the future?" Beth asked. "If it's all a predetermined game, why did you think Maggie would tell me about our Gift sooner than she did? If you saw her meeting Glenn, and me meeting Merle and Daryl, then…"_

_Florence lifted one gray eyebrow and said simply, "I said it's a game, love. I never said it was predetermined. Despite all our suffering, it is true: the Creator bestowed us His measly gift of Free Will. And we all take advantage."_

"_I can choose to turn away from my Gift whenever I want."_

_Florence's smile fell, but she agreed. "Aye. Every game has a different ending. The path you follow is for __**you**__ to decide, wee Beth. No one else."_

_Beth nodded with pursed lips, then she lifted her cup and took a small sip of tea. The warmth rushed through her once more. "I've decided I want to be a Witch. Like you and Morgan. I wanna be as powerful as I can be. And I wanna use that power to help the Dixon brothers. And maybe other people, too. If I'm capable of it."_

_The Witch of Youghal smirked and her eyes twinkled. "You are a bold one, child. I saw the spark in you many moons ago, when I dreamt of your birth." Her smirk faltered. "I saw the pain, too."_

_Beth wasn't interested in talking about __**that**__. She'd deal with it on her own time—in that bedroom of her mind, where a dozen suitcases sat waiting to be unpacked. Her tea was dwindling fast, and she still had so many questions._

"_You saw me meeting Merle and Daryl," she recalled._

_Florence nodded. "Aye, I did."_

"_And you said Daryl—or Merle, I'm not sure—would be searching for a light and would find it at my farm. That's me, right? I'm the light they need?"_

_Florence shrugged. "If the shoe fits, lass."_

"_So I can save him? __**Both**__ of them? Is that what I'm supposed to do?"_

"_The only thing you're supposed to do is make the decision that feels right in your heart. Whether it be to help these lost souls, or turn your back on them." _

_Beth paused and took a sip of tea, mulling over Florence's words. Then she asked, "Is it even __**possible**__ to save them? I mean, Merle is basically a lost cause, but Daryl… sometimes I think he wants to be better. And then sometimes, it's pretty clear that he doesn't. I dunno if he wants anything except to be left alone."_

_Florence cackled. "Men, sweet child. There was a time when your father was much the same."_

"_Right, but… you said he was 'clinging desperately to the remains of the man he is meant to be.' Does that mean…?"_

_Florence sipped her tea and let the moment draw out in silence before lowering the cup and smiling knowingly across the table at Beth. "The man he __**is**__ meant to be. Not the man he __**was**__ meant to be. If you search, you will find your hope stashed away exactly where you left it."_

"_And The Governor?" Beth asked. "What about __**his**__ soul?"_

_Florence frowned. "There's a place reserved in the Afterlife for every soul. Best you worry yourself with the __**how**__ rather than the __**where**__, dear girl."_

"_He wants to kill Daryl. And I think he might actually do it if he gets the chance."_

"_Aye. You've become a protector, like your sister."_

"_I'm trying. But I'm not sure I'm doing enough. Or doing it right. We're tryin' to find The Governor, and I've gotten lots of clues from my Gift. But every time I have a vision, I black out. And I can't control when I get them, or when I dream about this stuff."_

_Florence's smile returned, an expression of endless patience on her face. "You must enter every setting with the same willpower and sense of purpose as you have now. There are countless doors that can only be opened by you, but you must __**want**__ to open them. And you must be prepared for what lies behind those doors. Your soul is prone to wander. But you know how to contain it, how to guide it and guard it. Use that knowledge. Rely on your hope and your sense of what is right and wrong to be your compass through every plane. Remember yourself, Beth Greene, and you will never be lost."_

"_Okay," Beth nodded, letting every word burn into her brain. She took a small sip of tea, aware of how few sips she had left. Florence was watching her with curious green eyes._

"_Did you see me meeting Morgan? The Swamp Witch?" Beth asked. "Is that why you spoke through him? He said he saw me in his dreams—or visions, or whatever. Like he was supposed to help me, or we were __**meant**__ to meet." _

_Florence huffed out a breath of amusement. "There are very few as powerful as him. We've crossed paths before, through his previous lifetimes. He may not remember me, but I certainly remember him. However, no part of your journey has been constructed by me, lass. I was merely taking advantage of an opportunity. You're lucky to have a mortal such as Morgan to offer guidance. He and his young son are the last of a dying breed. Power and light emanates from him in every plane he's ever crossed. Pure souls flock to him and surround him in many different forms."_

"_You think he can teach me how to be a better Witch?"_

"_Perhaps. Though I doubt there's much he could teach you that you couldn't teach yourself, given the right amount of determination."_

_Hm. Interesting._

_Florence took a sip of tea and set down her empty cup. "You have quite a few questions for someone who's already formed a plan."_

_Beth furrowed her brow and looked back at the Witch of Youghal with confusion. "What plan?"_

_Florence smirked, folding her hands atop the table, and said, "You wish to save both of the Dixon boys' souls, but you know you can only truly save one. Yet regardless of the outcome, the Dealmaker is owed __**two**__ souls."_

_Beth blinked, but she didn't say anything. The tentacle-vines were stirring within her again, so she took a tiny sip of tea to calm them._

"_Yes, it really __**is**__ that simple, love," Florence stated, as though she could read Beth's mind. And maybe she could. "I know your longsuffering heart aches for the soul you think could be redeemed. But remember: every soul that resides in Hell is only as evil as the purest soul that loved it. Veils and planes divide them, but their connection remains for eternity. Like the scars that decorate our mortal bodies."_

"_Merle isn't exactly a good soul, but Philip Blake is pure evil," Beth said. "And Daryl… he's good. He's __**really**__ good. He just loved his brother—still loves him. He didn't know any other way to live. Or love."_

_Florence nodded in understanding. "Funny how that works out, isn't it lass?" Then she shrugged. "What of the good ones who loved Philip? Those who were connected to his soul by the unseen threads of Fate? Those who suffered for him?"_

"_I don't… I don't know," Beth admitted. "I haven't thought about it._

_Florence raised a finger and gave Beth a knowing look. "Aye, you haven't, have you? Not until now." _

_Something inside Beth knew what that meant, but would not acknowledge it yet._

_Then Florence waved a hand towards the teacup sitting in front of Beth. "Drink up then. It's nearly time for you to leave."_

"_But I still have questions," Beth objected, though she grasped the teacup with purpose as she was instructed._

"_What more could you need to know?" Florence asked, a bit indignant. "You're a confident, powerful, morally conscious Greene woman. You have Gifts that most could never fathom, and you're growing stronger every day. The world is your oyster, lass—both mortal and otherwise."_

_The words poured from Beth's mouth on a shaky breath: "But Ms. Newton… I'm __**scared**__."_

_Tears were pooling in her eyes and she couldn't seem to fight them back. Florence's face fell._

_Beth continued with a trembling lower lip, "I care about Daryl—I __**really**__ care about him. An' I think he might be startin' to care about me, too. But I dunno if I can stop him from being murdered, and what if I do? What if I keep him alive, but his soul still goes to Hell with Merle's?" The panic in her voice rose. "I couldn't live with myself knowing they were both down there. Daryl doesn't belong there, but I-I didn't even know I __**had**__ this stupid Gift until a few days ago. You say I'm like my sister, but I'm not. Not really. I've never been as strong as Maggie. I've never done anything like this before. I didn't even go to college, I'm not prepared for this!"_

_Florence chuckled sympathetically and reached into the pocket of her dress, pulling out a folded-up handkerchief. She held it out across the table for Beth to take._

"_Don't shed tears for the living, dear," Florence said, her tone comforting. Beth took the offered handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes with the silky white fabric. "There is no school to teach you how to handle this. But don't doubt yourself; your sister's soul is only as strong as yours, no matter how it may appear on the outside. Power is a wonderful concept, but a terrible burden to those who possess it. We call it a Gift ironically—there is no part of this that will feel like a blessing. It's a series of long and torturous roads, and oftentimes, there is no reward at the end. Not for us. Yet it should not be considered a curse, either."_

_She paused and gazed at Beth sadly, sighing. Beth clutched the handkerchief in her lap, eyes dried and tentacle-vines writhing beneath her skin._

_Then Florence went on, "Love is much the same; a terrible burden to bear, and so few rewards. Caring for someone so deeply that you're willing to tear yourself apart in order to keep them safe. What an __**awful**__ and __**wonderful **__thing… But remember this, wee Beth: the lessons you learn through your Gift and the sacrificial love you will find lying at its core… it may not be the reward you were seeking, but it will award you more satisfaction than you could've ever dreamt. There is promise to be found in your power. A purpose you never thought possible. Your soul yearns for something that you are unable to remember. It calls to you, pulls you towards it with a sense of aimlessness. You're destined to seek it out, to rebuild it, time and time again, from one life to the next. Each reconstruction will take a form of its own, but they are all the same within."_

_Beth swallowed thickly. "Because they're all built on the foundation of love. And doing what's right—what's necessary."_

_She felt the tears trying to form, but she managed to fight them back this time. She didn't know where those words had come from, but they felt… right. They felt true._

_Florence smiled and let out a laugh. "Aye. You understand. No need to rely on some batty old woman to tell you." She winked._

_Beth smiled and lifted the teacup without thinking about it. The last of the liquid slid past her lips and down her throat, leaving her with an empty cup, which she set down gingerly. When she realized what it meant, her smile faded._

_As if on cue, the sound of a clock ticking in slow-motion began to echo out from somewhere behind the darkness of the trees that surrounded them at every side. Beth's heart skipped and she looked to Florence._

"_You must be getting back now," the Witch of Youghal said._

"_How?" Beth asked._

"_Take the way you came in," Florence replied simply. "You remember, don't you?"_

_Beth nodded. "Yeah. I think so." The ticking was growing louder and filling her ears._

_She stood from the table and paused while Florence pushed herself up from her seat, grabbing her cane for support. But even as Beth told herself she needed to start walking away, there was a thought niggling at the back of her unconscious mind. And she simply could __**not**__ leave without letting that thought form its own sentence and escape her mouth._

"_Can I ask you one more question?"_

_Florence leaned against her cane with both hands and raised her eyebrows at Beth. "Quickly, lass."_

_The ticking was growing louder and louder, still in slow-motion but ominous all the same. Yet this urge surpassed her need to leave. She had to ask. She just __**had**__ to._

"_Maggie knows the truth, but I'm lying to my dad an' brother every day. And I hate it. But I know I can't tell them the truth… yet. D'you think I could tell 'em one day? Or would they just think I'm crazy? Will they __**ever**__ understand who I really am?"_

_Florence smirked, chuckling softly. "You may be sisters, but you did not experience the same childhood. Nor did your brother. Your father is a wise and faithful man. Parenthood changes a person. What was true for your sister won't be true for you. She was his first. I'd like to believe he's learned many lessons since you came into the world, Beth. After all, the sun can shed light on even the darkest of places."_

_Beth pondered this statement and opened her mouth as though to ask another question, but Florence stopped her. She had to speak up over the sound of the ticking clocks._

"_Save your questions. I'm sure this won't be our last conversation. Get back now, lass. There's no more time to waste."_

_Without question, Beth turned and began to walk away. But just as she approached the grove, Florence called out to her._

"_I nearly forgot to tell you—"_

_Beth stopped and turned around to see the old woman reaching a weathered hand out towards her._

"_You must remember: the door that brought you here is kept locked for a reason. Should you enter unwillingly, you may not be able to return. Guard yourself, wee Beth. Always remain wary."_

_Beth nodded, then Florence was waving her off, urging her to keep moving. So she turned back around and left the clearing._

_She stepped through the grove until she was submerged in the darkness of the trees once more. The sound of the slow-motion clock helped guide her back to the shore._

_The boat with its sign was still there, but the cloaked Death-like figure was nowhere to be seen. The Hounds were no longer visible atop the cliff. But Beth didn't take the time to look around. She walked quicker than before, heading straight for the open blue door that waited for her at the end of the shore._

_The clock had begun to speed up, the ticking becoming normal-paced, but she was already at the door. She stepped through and it slammed shut behind her. She heard the loud 'click' of a lock. She didn't turn around to look at it._

_Straight ahead, she saw herself lying in her bed, sound asleep and breathing steadily. She approached the bed and turned her back to her own sleeping form before lying down._

_Then she closed her eyes._

_The ticking stopped. Everything went silent._

**to be continued… **


	48. Oh, Brother

**Oh, Brother**

Beth felt like she was wading through mud as she rose to consciousness. Her eyes slowly fluttered open and she took in a deep breath, letting it out quickly just to take in another. Her mind was a hazy jumble, and at first, she couldn't remember anything.

Then she recalled her meditation session. And she willed herself to remember what came after. It returned to her, flashing through her head on a replay. Her heartbeat sped up and she couldn't help asking herself if that had _really_ happened or if it had been some kind of crazy lucid dream.

But no, she knew better. It was way more than a lucid dream. She'd channelled it, controlled her Gift, figured out how to summon the Witch of Youghal and ask for advice. Over a nice cup of tea, no less.

She'd finally gotten some damn answers. And, to her surprise, had been assured that she was doing everything correctly. Or at least, she was on the right path. Which is all she _really _wanted.

She turned her head to look at her alarm clock and saw that it was only three minutes before her alarm was set to go off. But when she raised her hand to reach for her phone, she realized there was something clutched tightly in her palm.

It was the silky white handkerchief Florence had given her. And as she unfolded it and studied it, she saw that it was monogrammed: embroidered into the corner were the initials _BG_. In the opposite corner were three tiny animals sewn intricately into the fabric: a dark green alligator, a brown owl, and a black crow.

Beth's heart skipped and she quickly sat up, turning the handkerchief over in her hands and inspecting it closely. How had she come back with this? And where had Florence gotten it?

And what kind of message was she trying to send by leaving it with Beth?

She reached over and lay the handkerchief down gently atop her nightstand. Another piece of a much larger puzzle that she would have to slowly put together.

Then she grabbed her phone, unplugging it from the charger and opening her alarms to disable them. There was a new text from Daryl waiting for her, and it had just arrived less than five minutes ago.

_You've been plenty of help. Don't want you blowing off your family for this. They're more important._

Beth was reminded of how he'd hesitated and grown tense the night before, when he was dropping her off. How he was suddenly worried that her family would "get the wrong idea." Whatever that meant.

Was he really so concerned with the idea of people thinking they were friends? Or that they were seeing each other? Was he embarrassed to be thought of that way?

Was he embarrassed of _her_?

She texted back, _"More important than finding the guy who wants to murder you? Please, Daryl. I'm not blowing them off. Just let me worry about it, okay? You need to focus on helping me find Philip and control Merle."_

As soon as she hit Send, she typed out another message and sent it right after: _"Have you talked to Rick yet?"_

She sat in bed for a few minutes, glancing back and forth between her phone and the handkerchief on her nightstand. She wondered where Merle was, but she quickly decided she didn't much care. She'd rather he stay gone until she needed him, anyway. He would come back around before long.

When Daryl didn't text back after a good five minutes, Beth got out of bed and set her phone aside. And as she grabbed a clean outfit and headed for the shower, she hoped there would be a new text waiting for her when she returned.

* * *

After a hot, mind-clearing shower, Beth spent a few moments applying some light makeup and braiding her hair into one long braid. She opted for jeans and a long-sleeved tee, as well as her favorite pair of boots. And once she was ready for the day, she grabbed her phone and unlocked it.

Just as she'd hoped, there was a new text from Daryl, which had arrived while she'd been getting dressed:

_Whatever you say, Greene. Yep just talked to him. Said he'll be free for a couple hours around noon. Offered to pick us up._

She smiled to herself and quickly texted back, _"Okay, sounds good. Text me when y'all are on the way."_

A few seconds later, he responded with a thumbs up emoji. Beth was still smiling.

By the time she got downstairs and walked into the kitchen, Maggie and Glenn were working on cleaning up from breakfast. Beth could see Hershel and Shawn through the screen door, standing across the backyard and talking to one of the farmhands. The coffeemaker on the counter was churning out a fresh pot, the rich smell filling the air and mixing with the scent of recently cooked bacon.

"Morning," Beth greeted, heading straight for the coffeepot and grabbing a mug from the cupboard above it.

"Oh, look who's up," Glenn greeted with a smile.

"Mornin', sleepyhead," Maggie said, drying her hands on a dishtowel while Glenn scrubbed remnants of soggy food from the sink basin. "We just finished breakfast. Saved you an omelette—it's in the microwave."

Beth topped off her cup of coffee and returned the pot. "Oh, thanks." She went over to the microwave and opened the door to find a lukewarm omelette and a serving of hash browns waiting for her on a plate.

Glenn finished his task and gave Maggie a kiss on the cheek. "Guess I better go get ready for some horseback riding."

She gave him a playful smack on the arm. "Yeah, you'd better. Wear those boots I got for ya."

He chuckled and gave Beth a wave as he left the kitchen and headed towards the stairs.

Beth sat down at the table with her food and cup of coffee, giving Maggie a curious look. "Yer gonna take him out ridin'?"

Maggie shrugged and leaned back against the counter. "Yeah, why not? He's gotta learn sometime if he's gonna be part of the family." She laughed.

Beth began digging into her omelette, nodding in agreement. "That's true," she said through a mouthful of egg, bacon, and peppers.

There was a beat, then Maggie asked, "So how'd it go yesterday?" She approached the table and sat down in the chair across from Beth, lowering her voice. "I never got the chance to ask you last night. You said you were goin' to some place in the city, right? Did y'all find anything out?"

Beth slowed her eating and nodded, meeting her sister's gaze warily. "Yeah. Merle wasn't much help, but Daryl's pretty good at thinkin' on his feet. We found out The Governor's real name, and Rick offered to take us to another place today to see what else we can dig up."

Maggie's eyebrows shot up and her eyes widened. "Seriously? What's his name?"

"Philip Blake," Beth replied. "He did some time in prison. But we can't find an address or anything for him."

"Damn," Maggie said. "So where're you gonna go today?"

"His old workplace," Beth said, glancing down at her plate as she took another bite. She chewed and swallowed before adding, "I… tried somethin' last night."

Maggie furrowed her brow and frowned. "With Daryl, or—?"

Beth felt her cheeks burning and looked at her sister indignantly. "What—no! I mean, with my _Gift_."

"Oh," Maggie snickered. "Right."

Beth rolled her eyes. "Yer so annoying."

"_Pfft_," Maggie scoffed. "It was just a guess. I thought you meant… ya know."

"Shut up," Beth snapped, staring down at her breakfast and trying to hide her bright red cheeks. She quickly changed the subject by adding, "I looked up some stuff, and I meditated. I think I figured out how to control this thing a little bit. 'Cause when I went to sleep, I was able to talk to Florence Newton."

Maggie's eyes went wide again and her jaw dropped. "Seriously? _How?_"

Beth shoved the last bite of her omelette into her mouth and chewed slowly, shrugging. When she finally swallowed, she chased it with a swig of warm coffee. Then she answered, "I just… focused. It's hard to explain, but I kinda like, _channeled_ my Gift. I guess I summoned her or somethin'."

"And what'd you talk about? What'd she tell you?"

"Lots of stuff. I mean… I dunno, we kinda—"

She was interrupted by the sound of heavy boots clomping across the porch, immediately followed by the screen door creaking open and slamming shut. Beth and Maggie looked over and saw Shawn entering the kitchen, an expression of agitation on his face. He headed straight for the coffeepot and began filling up his thermos.

"Mornin'," Beth greeted.

He grunted and, without turning around, asked, "You gonna help us today? Or you gonna go runnin' off with that Dixon guy again?"

Beth exchanged a look of unhappy surprise with Maggie before replying, "What d'you need help with? Could've just asked me, ya know. I don't have any plans till noon."

Maggie chimed in, "What're you actin' so huffy for?"

Shawn scoffed, turning around to face his sisters. "I'm not. Just gettin' tired of Beth ditchin' her chores to go fool around with some old man."

"I'm not _ditching _my chores," Beth argued. "And Daryl's _not _an old man. If you need help with something, why don't you try usin' yer words for once? Dad hasn't said anything about—"

"Dad thinks you've been cooped up around here for too long," Shawn snapped back. "And he's not gonna say anything 'cause he feels _bad_. But that don't mean he ain't pissed about you blowin' us off all week to hang out with a _Dixon_."

The way he said Daryl's last name was like he'd tasted something unpleasant and spit it out, and it grated on Beth's nerves.

"Shawn, stop it," Maggie interjected. "Beth has a right to her own life. You don't need to be a dick about it."

"Easy to say when you can run back to Atlanta anytime you want," Shawn said, scowling at his older sister. "Yer not the one who has to pick up the slack around here."

Beth opened her mouth to defend herself, but Maggie beat her to it.

"And how d'you think yer gonna pick up all that slack once she moves out and starts her own life? If taking over the farm is too much pressure, you need to say somethin' to Dad so he can hire more help."

"You know we can't afford that shit," Shawn barked.

Maggie was about to say something else, but Beth interjected quickly.

"I'll do my chores, okay? Just tell me what you need done and I'll take care of it," she said, keeping her tone steady and attempting to play mediator in the hopes of preventing a loud fight between her siblings. "I'm not blowin' anything off."

She hated listening to them argue, talking about her like she wasn't sitting right there. And she really didn't want to approach the subject of her moving out or not right now. Why did Maggie have to bring that up? As if it were set in stone or something. Which it very much was not. Beth had no plans to move out anytime soon, especially when she knew it would mean leaving Shawn and their dad high and dry. She couldn't do that to them.

Besides, she couldn't say Shawn didn't have a right to be upset. She'd definitely been slacking on her chores ever since Merle showed up. And yeah, her daddy had been really understanding thus far, and if he'd wanted to say something, he certainly hadn't made it obvious. But if they were as short-handed as Shawn was making it seem, then that could only mean that he was right: Hershel was taking pity on his youngest daughter because he thought she was making a new friend for the first time in seven years. And the very _last_ thing she wanted was her father's pity.

"Well, fer a start, the chickens're supposed to be _your_ responsibility," Shawn chided, taking a swig of coffee and glaring across the kitchen at his younger sister. "And since Otis is gonna be out fer the next eight weeks, that means he won't be around ta do yer job for you no more."

Beth frowned, and Maggie interjected before she could respond.

"Why's Otis out? What happened?"

Shawn rolled his eyes and sneered in Maggie's general direction. "Patricia's gettin' that surgery on her back and they're gonna be stayin' down in Savannah with her sister so she's closer to her doctor. Ain't you talked to them at all in the last few months?"

Beth looked over at her sister to see Maggie blinking, a bit dumbfounded. She shook her head and said, a bit ashamed, "I've only seen 'em a couple times, neither of 'em mentioned anything about it."

Shawn scoffed and took three long strides across the kitchen, stopping in front of the back door. He glanced at Beth and said, "I gotta get back to work, but if you feel like comin' out an' makin' yerself useful for once, come find me. I got plenty a chores for ya."

Then he was shoving the screen door open and leaving the kitchen, boots clomping loudly across the wooden porch as the door swung shut behind him. He didn't even give Beth a chance to respond.

Maggie crossed her arms over her chest and huffed out a breath of exasperation, turning to face Beth once more with a heavy frown on her face. "He hasn't changed one damn bit since he was five. Still throwin' fits whenever he feels like he ain't gettin' enough attention."

Beth shrugged, pushing away the remaining half-serving of hash browns on the plate in front of her, her appetite suddenly gone. "He can be a jerk, but you know how Shawn is; he lets it all build up an' then he explodes outta nowhere. He hasn't said a word about any of this until now, so I dunno how he expects me to just _know_."

Maggie smirked and flashed a light-hearted smirk. "Well you are s'posed to be _psychic_, aren't ya?"

Beth rolled her eyes, suppressing a chuckle.

But in actuality, she didn't find any part of this very funny at all. She was caught up in a murder mystery-slash-paranormal adventure, meanwhile her family was still struggling to get by and her brother was upset that she was pushing them aside for seemingly no reason.

Sure, he could've communicated his feelings in a slightly more mature way, but then again, he was Shawn. And he had a pattern that Beth was very familiar with. And it was probably a little jarring for him to see his baby sister suddenly slacking off and disappearing for hours on end every single day over the last week.

Plain and simple, there was no excuse for it. She still had a duty to her dad and her brother, and the farm that she called home. If she could figure out how to balance her Gift and keep a dealmaking demon from invading her mind, then _surely_ she could figure out how to balance her little Witch adventure with her everyday responsibilities.

Or at least, she could _try_.

* * *

Maggie volunteered to help Beth with the chickens, and they both avoided Shawn for the time being. While they were alone, Beth continued explaining what she'd discussed with Florence Newton and tried to answer all of Maggie's curious questions to the best of her ability.

She didn't try to approach Shawn until Maggie had already wandered off towards the horse stables with Glenn. And when she did, she found her older brother loading up the battered, white Suzuki mini-truck with feed for the cattle.

Beth approached him just as he was hoisting the last couple of bags into the bed, his brown hair plastered to his forehead with sweat and a look of determination set on his face. He turned around and paused when he saw her, though she knew he'd heard her approaching.

"You need a to-do list or sum'n?" He asked, frowning.

She sighed loudly and crossed her arms over her chest. "No, I finished with the chickens and Maggie said she an' Glenn would take care of the horses today. So I figured I'd help you feed the cattle. Is that _okay_?"

Shawn shrugged and turned away, walking to the driver's side door and opening it. "Do whatever you want. 'S long as shit gets done."

Beth_ hmph_ed in frustration and walked quickly to the passenger's side, whipping the door open and plopping down in the seat before slamming the door shut beside her. Shawn had already closed his door and was starting up the quiet Suzuki. His mouth was set in a hard line and he was keeping his eyes forward, visibly tense in his seat.

They drove away, rumbling over hills and through valleys, and Beth kept her mouth shut, waiting for her brother to speak. But he remained silent, even when they stopped and he got out to open the gate. He muttered an "okay" when she offered to step out and close the gate behind them, but didn't speak again once she'd gotten back into the truck. They sped through the yellow-green fields, a herd of cattle grazing in the distance.

Beth finally spoke up: "Givin' me the silent treatment isn't gonna solve anything, ya know."

Shawn grunted and tightened his one-hand grasp on the steering wheel. "Ain't givin' you no different treatment than what I give everybody else."

"Exactly," Beth agreed. "And that's what's _bullshit_ about it. I'm your sister, Shawn. You have to _communicate_ with me."

"Why would I do that? 'S like talkin' to a damn brick wall. Yer jus' gonna do what you wanna do anyway, don't matter _what_ I say. Just like Maggie."

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

"You know what it means."

He took a hard left and the vehicle jerked, startling Beth. But she retained her composure and scowled over at her brother with discontent. The cattle had taken notice of them and spotted the feed bags and began _moo_ing while following the white Suzuki.

"Shawn, I'm not gonna abandon you and Dad," she said, raising her voice so she could be heard over the cries of the cows that were currently surrounding and trotting after them. "I know that's what you're thinkin'. But Maggie doesn't _speak_ for me. I don't have any plans to move out. Not anytime soon… If that's what yer afraid of."

Shawn scoffed and slammed on the brake, shoving the gearstick into Park and refusing to so much as glance over at Beth. "I'm not _afraid_. I'm just gettin' pretty goddamn _sick_ of coverin' the asses of a bunch'a people who wouldn't even _dream_ of doin' the same fer me."

He got out of the truck, slamming his door shut behind him, and Beth followed suit.

"Like who?" She asked as they converged at the back of the truck and each grabbed a heavy bag. "I—"

He interrupted her, voice raised and angry, "Like Otis, who didn't even bother to mention a fuckin' _word_ about Patricia's surgery till three months _after_ they started searchin' Savannah fer a doctor." He finally turned to look at her and his scowl deepend, but he quickly turned back and began busying himself with unloading a bag of feed while he spouted off. "Like Maggie, who didn't give a _damn_ what kinda work she was leavin' behind when she decided to stay in Atlanta full-time an' settle down with some pizza delivery boy—who cares, right? We'll make do, so long as Daddy's precious eldest daughter continues the family bloodline."

Beth had grabbed her own bag of feed and followed after him, carrying the bags to the trough while eager cattle surrounded them. He continued, his tone laced with spite, "Or like _you_. Always playin' up your position as the baby in the family, hittin' Dad's soft spot every chance ya get. He ain't gonna ask you to step up and take part 'cause he doesn't wanna risk pushin' you back into that behavior you had when Mom died. 'S long as you get the attention ya need, from _somebody_, Dad _or_ Dixon, we gotta be okay with it and—"

She slammed her bag down in the trough and cut him off.

"What the fuck is _wrong_ with you?! Is that _really_ how you feel, Shawn?" Beth glared at her brother as they stood beside the trough, anxious cattle surrounding and closing in on them and crying for food. "'Cause yer bein' a pretty big _asshole_ right now. I'm sorry that all this crap fell on you like it has, but yer takin' some things to heart that have nothin' at all to do with you _or_ this farm."

He sneered and pulled a knife from his belt, flipping it open and recklessly slicing open the bags. Sixty pounds of feed poured out and filled the troughs, and Beth waited for him to try and defend himself.

But he didn't. He pursed his lips and his jaw ticked to the side, like he wanted to say more but was holding it back.

So Beth went on, a bit softer and a lot more pained, "You really think I did what I did after Mom died because I wanted _attention_? Is that what you honestly think of me…?"

She watched him grab up the empty bags and followed him back to the truck, where he tossed them into the bed and moved to grab another full bag. But then he stopped and hesitated. He seemed to be avoiding her gaze, though she stared at him the whole time. Finally, he turned to face her again.

Shawn sighed. "No, Bethy… I—I'm just so _pissed off_. I'm tired, alrigh'? Ain't I allowed to be a little _goddamn_ exhausted by all the bullshit around me? We've been strugglin' to get by fer the better part of a decade now, an' I'm startin' to think it's never gonna get any better. So where do I go from here? When I see both my sisters movin' on, focusing their lives on some _guys_, while my dad's slowly dying? What the hell else am I supposed to do?"

Beth was taken aback. All she could say was, "Daddy's not dying…"

"Yes he is, Beth. Don't lie to yourself. We both know it." Shawn sighed again, his tone growing soft and somewhat remorseful, and glanced away from her. "And that's okay. He's old. It's gonna be his _time _soon. Maybe he's got five more years—ten at most. But we all know it's comin'. And that means we're gonna have a pretty big decision to make…"

She _did_ know it was coming. Of course she knew. She wasn't stupid. Her daddy was old and he was deteriorating a little more every year, and that was part of the reason she'd been frightened of Merle in the first place. Because no matter what other kind of power the dead Dixon claimed to hold over her head, the most dangerous was the life of her father.

Hershel was fragile. His remaining time was limited. He was capable of less and less with every month that passed. He was growing weaker and withering away right before her eyes. He knew it, even if he never spoke of it. And so did his children.

But dammit, that was a hard fact to face and accept so boldly like Shawn had. Beth was experiencing a very sudden and very intense sadness from the realization that her brother was carrying all this weight on his shoulders.

How had she not noticed before this? She was supposed to be _Gifted_. She was supposed to be in-tune with things like this. Yet it had completely surpassed her observations.

How was she supposed to fix Daryl's family problems when she couldn't even fix her own?

She was still searching for the proper response when Shawn turned back to the bed of the truck, hoisting out a heavy bag and handing it over to Beth. She took it and carried it on her shoulder, following after him while he led the way to the next trough in the line, a bag of feed propped up on his shoulder as well.

"Whatever decision we make will be the right one," she said decisively, dropping her bag down into the trough beside her brother's while he pulled out his knife to cut them open. "We'll make it work. We always do." The cattle that weren't already eating at the first trough had surrounded them again, and she and Shawn had to shove their way through a small herd to get back to the truck with empty bags in their hands.

"_Uh-huh_," he grunted, climbing into the driver's seat as Beth went around and returned to the passenger's seat. "Ain't so easy as it sounds, though."

He started up the truck and Beth looked over at him, her mouth set in a hard line of determination.

"Ya know, I've been makin' some pretty big decisions of my own lately. And I'm not about to sit by an' let this farm fall to the wayside. I'll do whatever it takes. When the time comes," she said. Then she quickly added, "Yer not alone in this, Shawn. You never have been."

Shawn gazed over at her with his hands on the steering wheel, a thoughtful look on his face. Though he was still frowning. "Sure as hell feels like I am."

Beth sighed and resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "Maggie moved to Atlanta _for_ this farm. For _us_. It's not like she abandoned us."

"Till she met Glenn," Shawn quipped. "She might'a moved there for us, but she _stayed_ there fer _him_."

"Okay, but that doesn't mean she's moving on. She won't let anythin' happen to this place once Daddy's… gone. I _know_ she won't."

"As long as yer here, maybe. But the second you get yerself a boyfriend and someplace to go, that'll be it for me. I'll be left tryin' to figure out how to keep this whole damn farm afloat."

"It's been a _week_, Shawn. I'm not runnin' off to get married. Gimme a friggin' break here."

"Like you've given _me_? A week turns into a month turns into a year—next thing ya know, yer movin' in with the guy and forgettin' all about us."

"That's not even _close_ to the truth," Beth insisted. "I'm not _going_ anywhere. I don't care what you or Maggie think—or Dad, for that matter—because I _know_ where I really belong. And it's right here. Daryl, or whoever else, has _nothing_ to do with it."

Shawn shook his head, but he was clearly exhausted with arguing for the time being. He shifted gears and began driving away, keeping his eyes straight ahead while they rumbled over dying grass.

She was beginning to wish, now more than ever, that she could just tell him the truth. Maybe if she explained that she was trying to stop a murderer from killing Daryl and sending his soul to Hell, Shawn would be a little more understanding.

Then again, who was to say he would be okay with his baby sister running around with a Dixon and a cop, putting themselves in danger and following the advice of a dead man while hunting down someone who _definitely_ wanted to kill them? Knowing the truth might only make Shawn all that much more adamant about intervening. Even if it was some kind of Divine Destiny. He wouldn't care. All he cared about was the farm and keeping his family safe. Finding out about Beth's Gift and the risky situations she was putting herself in would undoubtedly kick his overprotective behavior into full-gear.

She still couldn't decide whether Florence had been advising her _against_ telling her family the truth, or if she'd been suggesting the exact opposite. Maybe it was one of those things where she would have to be patient and wait for just the right time to reveal that she was, indeed, a real-life Witch.

But damn, this giant white lie was getting pretty exhausting to continuously carry on.

A few moments of tense silence passed before Shawn spoke, though he kept his eyes forward. "You want me to believe you? Start pullin' yer weight around here. I gotta go check on the crops in the west field—I'mma drop ya off back at the house. Jus' do yer usual damn chores so I ain't gotta worry about all _that_ shit on top'a takin' care of Otis's shit. I got enough to do today without pickin' up yer slack."

Beth crossed her arms over her chest and frowned deeply, but she didn't try to argue.

"Fine."

And just when she was starting to think she might be getting the hang of things…

**to be continued… **


	49. A Song of Self-Doubting Ghosts and Singl

**A Song of Self-Doubting Ghosts and Single Older Men**

Beth stopped at the house just long enough to grab her phone and shove it into her pocket before joining Glenn and Maggie out at the stables. She offered to help them finish up with putting out fresh hay, mucking out the stalls, and brushing down the horses. They helped her forget about her little argument with Shawn by talking about life in the city and their wedding plans. And once they'd finished, they invited Beth to join them on their ride. But she declined and told them to have fun, because she had some work to finish before Rick and Daryl were due to pick her up.

She spent the next few hours making her usual rounds, the feeling of guilt growing heavier with each new task she started once she realized that the work had been falling on her brother and the other farmhands for the last week. Otis might've had enough time to cover Beth's chores and then some, which he never seemed to mind, but without him, it was like being short almost two whole workers. She _really_ needed to figure out how to balance both aspects of her life. At least for the time being—while she was trying to hunt down a murderer and keep an innocent soul out of Hell.

She didn't realize her phone had vibrated inside her pocket until she was taking a quick bathroom break, half an hour after the text message from Daryl arrived. It read:

_Think Merle was haunting my place this morning._

Beth quickly texted back, "_Uh oh. Why do you think that?_"

He replied almost immediately: _Woke up pretty early and found the TV on, credits rolling. My roommate never leaves it on and I know it wasn't the kid cuz she doesn't watch Game of Thrones._

Beth couldn't help but laugh out loud. She typed out a response while smiling to herself, "_And Merle does? Lol_"

_Yup. He never got around to watching the last season tho._

She rolled her eyes, still smirking, and texted back, "_Well let's hope it made him happy. Maybe he won't be so grumpy when he shows up again. I still haven't seen him since late last night._"

Thirty seconds later: _You didn't watch that show, did you_

She wasn't sure what that was supposed to mean, but it certainly didn't sound good. She replied, "_Well no. But there's boobs and dragons and incest, so what's not to like for him? Lol_"

She headed back out to resume her chores, phone in hand. Daryl was texting back quickly.

_Hope you're right. He say anything of value last night?_

She hesitated with her thumbs over the keyboard. But she'd already decided to lock away the information about the stashed money and keep it to herself. For now, anyway. It just didn't feel like the right time to bring it up. She had a feeling it would just be another weight added to the impossibly heavy load on Daryl's back.

So she replied, "_Kind of. I guess he heard about Brian and Philip Blake while he was in the military. Nothing really useful, though. No surprise there._"

Beth could practically hear the agitation in Daryl's voice when she read his next message: _Figures. Wonder if he'll be any damn help at all today. We could really use it. This might be the last good lead we can find._

She hurriedly typed out a response and sent it. "_Don't go getting all hopeless just yet, Dixon. I made a little breakthrough of my own last night. Might not need Merle's help nearly as much now."_

He texted back even faster than before: _A breakthrough? What's going on?_

She typed, "_Too much to text. I'll explain when I see you. It's good news, though. So keep your chin up :) and don't forget, we still have that judge to talk to if we don't find anything at the insurance company._"

He simply replied: _Guess you're right. Ok. See you in a couple hours, Greene._

* * *

Beth finished her last chore of the day—hanging up the clean laundry out back—before joining her family for lunch in the kitchen. She rinsed off and changed into clean jeans and a clean shirt while Maggie and Glenn cooked, then sat down at the table with her father and brother.

Shawn seemed to have cooled off since their conversation earlier, but she chose to remain quiet anyway. She listened to him discussing the Otis and Patricia situation with their dad, and only spoke up when the conversation turned to Maggie and Glenn. She didn't expect any kind of apology from Shawn. That wasn't his style. She figured she'd let her work speak for itself. He would notice that she was stepping up and resuming her responsibilities. No point in making a big deal out of it.

After lunch, they all chipped in to help clean up the kitchen, then quickly went their separate ways. Hershel and Shawn headed out to feed the rest of the cattle, Maggie and Glenn decided to take an afternoon walk, and Beth retreated upstairs to prepare for Rick and Daryl's inevitable arrival. Maggie offered to take the laundry off the line after Beth left, so she didn't have to worry about another lecture from Shawn.

But now it was time to start worrying about the _other_ half of her life.

She did a quick touch-up on her hair and makeup, then double-checked her purse to make sure she had everything she might need. Her phone was sitting on the edge of her desk and she kept glancing at it, waiting for the text from Daryl that would tell her they were on their way. And sitting beside her phone was the Djab Idol, right where she'd left it.

She pulled the folded-up paper from her purse and set it beneath the doghead statue, then pushed both of them aside to rest behind a framed photo at the back corner of the desk's surface. She sighed, hesitating.

Maybe she should just shove the damn thing to the very back of her closet? Just in case she was tempted…

The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end and a chill ran down her spine no more than a split-second before a very familiar, scratchy voice filled her ears.

"Still thinkin' about it, huh? Even though I didn't bother ya all fuckin' night."

Beth spun around to find Merle standing near the end of her bed, leaning back against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest and a scowl on his face. In the same moment, her phone vibrated and she quickly snatched it up.

A new text from Daryl: _On our way. In the sheriff's car._

She responded with a thumbs up emoji before stuffing the phone into her pocket and returning her attention to Merle. He was glaring at her with an icy blue gaze.

So, clearly, his mood had _not_ improved since the night before.

"Actually, I was thinkin' about shovin' the damn thing into a box at the back of my closet," Beth said. "Just in case I feel myself bein' _tempted_ again—gave you my word, didn't I?"

Merle's face relaxed the slightest bit and he shrugged, glancing her up and down like he wasn't sure whether he should believe her or not. "Dunno how much weight yer word holds, princess. Can't say we've exactly built a repertoire of _trust_ between us over the last five days."

She put her hands on her hips and lifted her chin defensively. "Oh, because _I've_ been the one leadin' _you_ astray. Right?" She narrowed her eyes and returned his resentful glare with one of her own.

He sighed, annoyed. "Guess you don't want my help that bad. Wasn't you just _beggin'_ me to be yer messenger boy about twelve hours ago? Musta changed yer mind pretty quick."

"Well, for _your _information," she quipped, the corner of her mouth curling into a smirk. "I don't really need you at all. I taught _myself_ how to get where I need to be last night—while you were watchin' TV at Daryl's house."

Merle's smug expression faltered and he frowned in confusion. "The hell ya mean by that?"

"Exactly what I said," she snapped. "I looked up all that information and I _used_ it. Now I know how to control where my Gift sends me, and I might even be able to stop passin' out every time I get a vision." She beamed proudly, satisfied with the disgruntled look on his face.

He hadn't expected her to actually take his advice and run with it. She could tell. For some reason, proving her capability felt way better than telling him he'd been right.

But he just scoffed and shrugged. "Well _congratu-fuckin'-lations_. Whatcha want, a gold star fer not stayin' a clueless damsel?"

Well. Should've known that feeling of success would be short-lived. Merle was an expert at taking people down a notch or five.

"Not from _you_," she replied sarcastically, her smirk fading. "Shouldn't you be happy right now? You got to finish your little show, _and_ we're about to follow another lead to find the guy who killed you. Can't you ever just be like, _not_ pissed off?"

Merle rolled his eyes, shoulders stiffening. "You never watched _Game of Thrones_, did'ja?"

Beth shrugged and gave him a quizzical look. "What does that matter?"

He heaved a sigh. "'Cause I never got a chance to watch the last season, but I found it on Daryl's DVR last night an' I caught up—and now I wish I fuckin' wouldn't have! Shoulda just stayed here and bothered you. Watchin' that dumpster fire ruined my whole goddamn week."

She couldn't help but laugh out loud and tease him a bit. "Seriously? No way it could've been _that_ bad. Yer such a child."

"You wouldn't understand," he grumbled. "Made everythin' feel fuckin' pointless. All that build up for a big ol' disappointment. Like a big _'fuck you'_ to everybody who ever gave a shit. I stopped gettin' invested in TV shows after _Dexter _let me down, but I really thought this'd be different. Shoulda never trusted those Hollywood pricks." He shook his head and glanced away, working his jaw angrily. "I shoulda just stayed dead an' gone. Shoulda told Legba to send me down to Hell an' get it over with. This whole fuckin' world's nothin' more'an a middle finger to anybody who wants some kinda goddamn _purpose_."

"Woah now," Beth said, reeling from his sudden onslaught of afterlife existentialism. "I know it was a pretty popular show, but good lord, Merle. There's bigger things at stake here. We don't need you goin' all emo right now."

"Yeah, whatever." Merle waved a dismissive hand and dropped his arms to his side listlessly. "Like I said, you wouldn't understand. Every fuckin' day I'm here feels like another misstep. I shoulda turned that deal down. Shoulda taken my ass on to accept my punishment. Now I done went an' dragged Daryl into it, and I can't even _help_ him."

"Yes, you can," Beth assured. "Now's not the time to start wishing you'd made better choices. You did what you did and we're gonna fix it. I don't think _you _understand what it means when I say I can control my Gift. We're gonna find Philip, and we're gonna _stop _him. And _you're _going to help any way you can."

Merle frowned, refusing to look directly at her. He grunted.

"I'm serious," she reiterated. "This ain't all for nothin'. I can promise you that much. But you'll have to put in real effort, Merle."

"You just _said _you don't need me," he argued, finally lifting his hard gaze to meet hers. "And yer fuckin' right. You _don't_ need me. Neither does Daryl. Y'all are better off with Ricky Boy than my dead ass. I can't do a damn thing to help y'all."

"You can, though," Beth insisted, raising her eyebrows and staring back at him intently. "You just have to _want_ to. You gotta mean it. No more of this 'I didn't care enough to do anything about it' attitude. No more _getting bored_ right in the middle of the action."

He opened his mouth to argue some more but she quickly cut him off. "Look, if you can pants Shane Walsh and make him question his own sanity, then everythin' else should be a cakewalk. Besides, it's just a case of followin' my lead—now that I actually _know_ what the hell I'm doing." She offered a weak smile, unsure of exactly how to handle a self-deprecating Merle Dixon.

She'd spent all this time hoping to deflate his obscenely large ego, but now that it was deflating on its own, the realization made her uncomfortable. It gave her a bad feeling, like when he'd suddenly turned remorseful and pleaded with her not to give up on him outside of Morgan's cabin. She knew there couldn't logically be any more secrets he hadn't let her in on, but she still didn't know how to deal with a less-than-smug Merle. And she didn't really _want_ to. It just didn't feel right. In a way, his blind confidence gave her a little confidence of her own. Because surely, if a guy _this_ ignorant and messed-up could still think so highly of himself—even after death—then she had no reason to doubt herself.

Then again, he and Daryl were a lot alike. Daryl didn't come off as smug or even confident, but he was easily discouraged. He and Merle had that same fragile sense of purpose deep down at their cores—they were both perpetually scared little boys hiding beneath the cover of cocky grown men. Merle was just better at keeping his buried.

Maybe she'd been a little too hard on him, after all…

Merle sighed and chewed on the inside of his cheek thoughtfully, glancing at her and frowning when he saw her mouth quirked into a half-smile. He looked back down to his boots and shook his head.

"Whatever," he mumbled. "Y'seem awful fuckin' sure of yerself, an' that ain't ever been a good sign before—not with anybody _I_ ever met."

"I'm not _like_ anybody you've ever met," Beth quipped.

"Sure." He scoffed, rolling his eyes. "'S not like I got much damn choice in the matter. Till ya decide to _banish_ me, anyhow."

"I'm not gonna _banish_ you," she said. "I promised you last night, didn't I?"

"If that's what you call a promise. Had an awful lotta conditions comin' with that term."

She narrowed her eyes at him and her smirk completely disappeared. "You made me swear on my mama's _grave_. And I _did_. I don't take stuff like that lightly, just so you know."

He didn't seem very enthused, but he didn't appear to be any more discouraged either. He pushed away from the wall and uncrossed his arms, reaching into the pocket of his vest for his pack of smokes. "Fine. You've _convinced_ me. Not like I got anythin' better to do…"

Then, with a cigarette dangling from his lips and his lighter in hand, he gestured towards the Djab Idol sitting on the desk behind her and added, "But'cha best put that damn statue somewhere I ain't gotta _look_ at it."

* * *

Merle chain-smoked out on the back porch while Beth finished preparing for Rick and Daryl's arrival. On her way out the bedroom door, she turned back and snatched up Florence's handkerchief from the bedside table and stuffed it into the bottom of her purse. Because why not? Who knew what could happen? The thing seemed important somehow. Might as well keep it on her person.

Maggie caught her in the kitchen on her way out and wished her good luck, insisting she text or call if she needed anything. Beth assured that she would and also asked Maggie to keep an eye on Shawn, briefly mentioning the conversation they'd had that morning. Maggie agreed, though she had to remind Beth that she and Glenn would be heading back to Atlanta the next evening. Beth decided that was a problem to worry about later, secretly hoping things might go back to being a little more normal around the farm now that Mama's memorial was over with and Maggie would no longer be disrupting the usual flow of things.

Not that Maggie necessarily disrupted anything—but having her and Glenn around felt like somewhat of a constant reminder of the giant hole that still remained in the family and on the farm. At least, that's what it seemed to be for Shawn. And Beth could see why. Maggie could pop in for a few days and take on some work, and then she could leave and return to a much less stressful life in the city. Beth and Shawn and Hershel couldn't do that.

Regardless, now it was time to focus on the psychopath who wanted to kill Daryl, and the dead guy who was suddenly heavily doubting himself. And Beth had some new things she was eager to try.

A new text arrived from Daryl just as she was grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge:

_Almost there. Meet at the end of the driveway?_

She quickly responded, "_Sounds good._" Then she stepped out onto the porch to find Merle sitting on the steps, smoking and gazing out at the scattered farmhands visible in the distance.

She passed him wordlessly, water bottle in one hand while the other hand rested on the purse at her side, and began walking down the driveway towards the road. Within seconds, she could feel him following silently behind her.

Halfway down the long gravel drive, he spoke up. "Y'gonna tell 'im about the money?"

Without glancing back at him, she replied, "I already told you I'm not. This is enough of a rollercoaster as it is. He'll just be mad that you lied about somethin' else, and I don't think that's what we need right now."

Merle grunted but, surprisingly, didn't argue. "Guess that's fair."

Beth didn't like lying by omission to Daryl. Not one bit. Because what if it ended up backfiring on her? What if he eventually found out about the money and assumed she'd kept the truth hidden out of selfish greed or something? She hoped he would know her well enough to trust that she'd never do something like that; to believe and understand that she only kept it to herself for the time being out of concern for him. Because, if she kept dropping one bomb after another on him, he'd eventually break and stop trusting his dead brother altogether. Sure, he already had very little trust, but was it worth risking those last scraps just to tell him something that he probably already knew? Something that had literally no effect on the overall outcome of this situation? She didn't think so.

Because this _was_ a rollercoaster. And right now, they were climbing up, up, up. She couldn't risk diminishing their momentum. Not yet. They were getting close to the top. She could tell—she could _feel_ it.

Florence had told her to do what she knew in her heart to be right. So that's what she was gonna do. She had to start trusting herself and believing in her own judgment if she was going to grab the reins of this Gift with both hands.

"Gonna have to tell him eventually, though," Merle muttered, like a persistent voice at the back of her head that happened to be personified.

"I know," Beth said. "We'll burn that bridge when we get to it."

Merle barked out a laugh. "Now yer startin' to sound like _me_, blondie."

She rolled her eyes and suppressed a small smile. "Let's just hope it can be like a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow."

Merle clucked his tongue. "Pretty fucked-up rainbow we're followin'. 'Specially if it ends where I _think_ it's gonna end…"

Beth didn't voice her agreement, but she certainly agreed. And she didn't have to ask what he meant by that statement. She was starting to get an idea of where this path may be leading them, too. And it was nowhere good. But it was _necessary_.

They had to do what was right. No matter how difficult that might be.

She and Merle were only standing at the end of the driveway for a minute or two before the sheriff's car came into view down the road, cresting over a hill and leaving clouds of dust in its wake. Rick stuck a hand out the window and waved in greeting as he slowed and pulled over, and she waved back, smiling. He stopped the vehicle right in front of her and offered an almost excited grin.

"Howdy!" He greeted. "Ready fer round two, Miss Greene?"

Beth chuckled and reached out to open the rear driver's side door as she replied, "This is more like round five or six fer me an' Daryl."

Daryl grunted in agreement and Rick laughed at her remark as she climbed in and shut the door beside her.

Just as she finished buckling her seatbelt, Merle appeared in the seat next to her with an indifferent expression on his face. She expected a comment or a complaint of some kind about being inside Rick's car and in the cop's presence again, but it never came. The dead Dixon just turned his head and gazed out the window thoughtfully, one hand picking at a loose thread on his jeans.

As they pulled off and began driving away, Rick glanced in the rearview mirror to meet Beth's eyes and asked, "Is Merle with us today?"

"Yeah," she said. "And he's not in a very good mood."

"How come?" Rick smirked. "Not gettin' enough attention again?"

Daryl snorted and chimed in, "Nah. He found the last season of _Game of Thrones_ on my DVR last night an' watched it while me an' Carol were asleep."

Rick let out a low whistle, though his smirk remained. "Aw, hell. He didn't get to experience that disappointment 'fore he died?"

Merle laughed and nudged Beth's arm. "See? 'Least this prick understands _something_. He fuckin' gets it."

Beth rolled her eyes, unable to suppress her smile of amusement. "Jeez, y'all were really invested in that dumb show, huh?"

Daryl scoffed. "You got no idea."

"Hey," Rick remarked. "Y'all didn't even start watchin' it till season five, after _I_ told you about it."

"Yeah," Daryl countered. "And we shouldn'ta listened to ya. Got us all invested in a show that ended up bein' a pile of anticlimactic shit."

Merle whooped, wholeheartedly agreeing even though neither of the other men could hear him. "Damn straight!"

"Look, none of us saw that comin', alright?" Rick defended himself, though his tone was light and he had a half-smile on his face the whole time. "If I'd had any idea how far downhill that shit was gonna go, I never would've even _mentioned_ it to you."

Beth sat back and watched them playfully bicker, laughing along. Even Merle seemed to be pleased with the topic of conversation for once, despite the fact he couldn't actually join in.

Then she felt her phone vibrate in her pocket. She pulled it out to find a new text message from Shawn. Confused and a little worried, she immediately tapped on the message and read:

_Was that Rick picking you up in his work car?_

She had no idea where this was going, but she knew it wouldn't help anything to ignore her brother. So she texted back, "_Yeah, he's hanging out with me and Daryl. Is that okay?_"

Barely thirty seconds later, Shawn's next text arrived: _Hanging out ? What does that even mean? Why are you driving around with a Dixon and a divorced sheriff?_

She frowned to herself and responded, "_You mean the divorced sheriff whose kids I've been babysitting for years? And the Dixon who I already told you is my friend? I did all my chores, if that's what you're worried about. I'm not blowing anything off. I'll most likely be back by supper time._"

Spitefully, she sent another text immediately after that said, "_Is that okay with you, DAD?_"

About a minute later, while Rick and Daryl were still discussing their deep hatred for a show that ended several months ago, Shawn texted back with a simple, _Whatever._

She rolled her eyes and locked her phone screen, but just as she was shoving it back into her pocket, it vibrated again. A follow-up text from Shawn.

_You're being so weird lately. Don't go getting yourself into something that the sheriff can't get you out of. Dad doesn't need any more stress than he's already got._

Beth silently fumed. She couldn't resist the urge to respond. "_I'm not stupid. And I'm not 12. So you can stop treating me like I am._"

A few seconds passed and she saw that her message was _Read_, but Shawn didn't reply to it. So she tucked her phone away inside her purse and tried to focus instead on what to expect once they arrived at the place where The Governor used to work.

But shit… she was gonna have to tell Shawn the truth sooner or later. Probably sooner rather than later. Even though she was almost certain that he would never understand. And who was to say he wouldn't immediately go to their dad with it? Then she'd _really_ be screwed.

_One problem at a time,_ she told herself. _Intent. Purpose. Control._

Christ, what if Shawn and their dad conspired to get her put into a mental hospital? Would Rick even be capable of convincing them she wasn't crazy at that point? She would never want to ask him to vouch for her against her father and brother. But how else could she possibly convince them of the truth on her own? There was just no way they'd believe her. She already knew.

_Relax, _she thought, focusing on the passing blurs outside the window. _It hasn't come to that yet. Hopefully it won't ever come to that. I have to remember what's important here. I can't let myself get distracted by other stuff… I'm gonna go into that insurance place. I'm gonna search for anything that could help us. And I'm __**going**__ to find something. I'm gonna control this stupid Gift. Even if it's just another puzzle piece that we end up finding. I'm not gonna faint or black out when I get a vision. I'm not gonna be vulnerable. No more getting carried away with every ebb and flow of the tide. I know where I'm going, and I'll set my sails accordingly. Florence knew what she was talking about… The Witch of Youghal believes in me. The Swamp Witch believes in me. Maggie believes in me. Daryl believes in me. I can believe in me, too._

Maybe if she kept repeating it to herself, she'd start to believe it.

**to be continued… **


	50. Saturdays Are For (tracking a murderer w

**Saturdays Are For (tracking a murderer with) The Boys**

It was a fifteen or twenty minute drive from the Greene Farm into town, depending on how closely one were to follow the speed limit. And Rick Grimes had a tendency to speed through country roads, so it probably wouldn't take them very long at all to reach Senoia. However, it was just the right amount of time for Beth to fill them in on the little breakthrough she'd had with her Gift.

Not that she could've avoided explaining it anyway. As soon as the _Game of Thrones_ subject had died out, Daryl was twisting around in his seat and looking back at Beth with genuine intrigue. She could already tell from his face what he was going to ask. She recalled their text conversation and prepared herself for the questions she knew were coming in the split-second before he vocalized them.

"Said ya had a breakthrough last night? And it was good? Wha's that mean?"

Rick briefly glanced back at her with the same intrigue as Daryl. "Is this _Gift_ related?"

Merle piped up, "Oh, this should be good."

Beth ignored him and nodded towards Daryl and Rick. "Yeah. _Very_ Gift related."

Merle chuckled. "Ya gonna spill the deets, princess? Or are you playin' coy now? You was soundin' awfully _cocky_ earlier."

"So what happened?" Daryl urged her on, raising his eyebrows expectantly. "You have another vision? See somethin' important?"

"Um, not exactly." She hesitated, quickly becoming deflated by the realization that this _breakthrough _didn't really affect Daryl directly. Or any of them, except her. Maybe she should've kept it to herself. "It was more of… learnin' how to control it. I looked up some stuff, tried a different approach—"

"Ain't gonna mention _my_ helpful suggestion, I see," Merle remarked bitterly.

She tried to tune him out, uncertain beneath Daryl's intent gaze. The living Dixon seemed to be hanging on her every word, and Rick kept glancing at her in the rearview mirror, practically grinning with excitement.

"I uh, meditated," she went on, her voice wavering with self-doubt. But Daryl didn't look any less invested, so she continued. "I guess it sounds silly, but that's what the articles suggested."

"Articles?" Daryl asked. "Like—ya Googled it?"

Merle cackled.

"Nah, that makes sense," Rick said. "Meditation is probably like a first step to this kinda thing. I'll bet there's all kinds of stuff on the internet about it."

Relieved to have his undying support, Beth smiled at the sheriff and added, "Not as much as you'd think, actually. I did a bunch of searches and barely found anything. But the meditation worked."

Daryl shrugged, seemingly convinced. "Worked, huh?"

"Surprisingly well," Beth replied. "It's hard to explain, but it felt like I was—oh, I dunno. Accessing some kinda _home base_ inside me." She shook her head, suppressing a small smile. "If that even makes sense."

Daryl and Rick both appeared to contemplate her words for a moment, then Rick hummed thoughtfully and Daryl shrugged again. Merle was looking over at Beth with an indecipherable expression, though he was quiet and appeared to be listening, which was never a bad thing.

"Like a…" Rick snapped his fingers, searching for the right term.

"Like the home base in a baseball game? Or like the startin' point fer a maze?" Daryl guessed.

Rick suggested, "Maybe it's like the motherboard of a computer, but the computer's her mind an' the motherboard's like the central system of all the Gift operations."

Daryl chuckled. "You been spendin' too much time with Eugene."

Rick laughed.

Beth interjected and tried to explain, "It was kinda like a mixture of all that."

The two living men furrowed their brows and gave her mirrored looks of confusion while Merle stared her down very expectantly, wordlessly urging her to extrapolate.

"It was my bedroom. And there were boxes and suitcases everywhere, and the door to the hallway was actually The Veil to the Other Side. My closet door was locked, and I couldn't get inside. I, um…"

She paused. And in that moment, she decided to keep the detail of hearing her dead mother's voice a secret. She hadn't even told Maggie that part. It sounded a little too crazy, she reckoned. Even in this context.

They just wouldn't get it.

"I saw Tabitha."

Daryl's eyes lit up, and Merle sat up a little straighter.

She quickly continued, "She was an owl. But I knew it was her. She was tellin' me that I'm not alone. And then Papa Legba tried to convince me to open the door to the Other Side."

"You _saw _him there?" Rick asked.

"No," she assured. "I heard him outside the door. He tried to trick me into letting him in."

"But you said no," Daryl interjected. "Right?"

Beth rolled her eyes. "_Of course_ I said no. I'm not stupid."

Rick's eyebrows had risen halfway up his forehead, and even though he wasn't glancing at her in the rearview mirror every two seconds, Beth knew he was enraptured with everything she was saying. She also knew it had to be some kind of miracle that this perfectly logical and respectable man still believed every word that came out of her mouth, no matter how ridiculous it sounded.

"Then what happened?" Daryl urged, nearly resembling a small child hearing a bedtime story.

"I came back," Beth said simply. And when her statement was met with understandable confusion, she explained, "Gettin' back from those places, even in my own head, is apparently half the battle. It's important that I can visit and still return."

"Just like I told ya—go figure," Merle remarked.

"Okay, I'm followin' along," Rick said.

But Daryl's brow was creased and he looked intensely thoughtful. Regardless, he followed up with another question: "There's more, ain't there?"

Merle chuckled. "Damn boy can read you like a book already, blondie." He crossed his arms over his chest and smiled with smug satisfaction. "Taught 'im everythin' he knows, best believe he's got _you_ down to a T by now."

For the thousandth time, she chose to ignore the dead Dixon and focus on the living brother before her.

Beth huffed out a breath and smirked, sharing a look with Daryl that felt somehow personal. Almost intimate.

"There's _always_ more."

* * *

Beth managed to condense all the important bits of her dream adventure and meeting with the Witch of Youghal into a comprehensive explanation for everyone in the car while they drove the last ten minutes to get to town. Rick's jaw was close to hitting the floor by the time she was done, Merle was blinking incredulously (mostly appalled that he was only just now learning this new and vital information), and Daryl just stared at Beth while still twisted around in his seat, an expression of both understanding and complete bewilderment on his face.

Obviously, she'd left out any details concerning Daryl, and she'd completely reworded just about everything she'd said to Florence. She also left out the minor freak-out she'd experienced, unwilling to admit that she'd basically begged a 400-year-old Witch for guidance through her own childish fears. Nonetheless, she relayed the most important information and got the message across. And all three men, dead and otherwise, seemed pleased—_and_ baffled—by what they'd just learned.

Afterwards, Beth couldn't help but blush and look away bashfully. Daryl turned back to face the front, and she hoped the insurance company wasn't much farther. Because she hadn't planned for this conversation, and the current silence felt awkward for some reason.

Were they shocked that she'd been able to summon such power from within herself? Or were they simply shocked by the sudden onslaught of revelations? She'd like to think it was the latter, but she was also a young farm girl who claimed to have the ability to talk to dead people, so it was anyone's guess.

All she could really hope was that they weren't underestimating her in the same way she'd been underestimating herself this whole time.

They finally passed the big blue sign that declared, _Welcome To Senoia! Population 3330_. And their focus shifted to the task at hand.

"So d'we got any idea what we're walkin' into?" Daryl asked, pulling out his pack of smokes and lighting one up. "Who we might be lookin' to talk to?"

Rick turned onto Main Street and slowed to the permitted 20 mph, glancing in the rearview mirror at Beth before looking over at Daryl.

"Yeah, I talked to a real nice fella on the phone this mornin'," the sheriff explained. "Lady that called me back yesterday wasn't quite as cooperative. Little too _sassy_, if ya ask me. But I asked her to talk to her supervisor about the situation. That resolved it pretty quick. Guy named Dale. Said he'd be more'an happy to sit down an' chat with us. Apparently, he's been workin' there fer about thirty years—way before they got bought out. I didn't wanna mention Philip's name over the phone—y'know, just in case somebody decides to dig out some files an' have a shredding party or sum'n. But from the sounds of it, I think this guy might know somethin' 'bout him."

"What makes you think that?" Beth asked curiously.

Rick smirked, one hand on the steering wheel while his other arm rested on the edge of the open driver's side window, letting the mid-October chill breeze over his skin and ruffle his short hair. "'Cause when I suggested a discussion about a past employee, he got real quiet right before he very _eagerly_ agreed to sit down with me—_in private_. Didn't try to weasel his way out neither. I think this is somethin' he's been expecting for a while now."

"Hope yer right," Daryl grumbled, taking a drag off his cigarette and ashing it out the open passenger's side window.

"I've learned how to read people," Rick said matter-of-factly, eyes focused on the road ahead. "I can tell when they're hidin' somethin', even over the phone. And I don't get the feelin' that this guy is tryin' to hide anything. In fact, it's quite the opposite; I think he's been waitin' fer somebody to come around askin' about Philip. The Governor can only kill so many people 'fore his past starts catchin' up to him."

"Who's to say his old coworker would suspect him to be a murderer, though?" Beth asked. "I mean… who would _ever_ expect that from someone they worked with?"

Rick shrugged, then he gave Beth a meaningful look in the rearview mirror, blue eyes narrowed and intent. "Trust me: you don't need to have any kinda supernatural Gift to know when somebody ain't right. Lots'a folks can sense that shit from a mile away. I couldn't even _begin_ to tell ya how many cases I solved because of some random neighbors' or coworkers' gut feelings. People hear things, see things, think they don't mean nothin'. But then it turns out to be just another clue that leads us to the answer… And somebody like The Governor is bound to have a whole _trail_ of suspicious behavior. I'd bet my salary that he's left a slew of incriminating evidence behind him everywhere he went. 'Specially if he was dumb enough to get caught at one point. Reckon he's the kinda criminal who relied on takin' advantage of the system—ya know, before we had all the technology we got now."

Beth had to admit that Rick had a point. Small towns like Senoia and Fayetteville, and even small metropolitans like Peachtree City, all with populations far below 40,000 people, didn't have the kind of access to police technology as their larger counterparts until about fifteen or twenty years ago. And was it coincidence or just plain happenstance that Philip had done his dirty deeds undetected… until about fifteen or twenty years ago?

If they were wagering real money, she'd probably double down on Rick's bet and guess that he knew what he was talking about. He might be a small town sheriff, but that didn't make him any less good at what he did.

Rick slowed the car to a stop at a red light, though there were no more than five other vehicles waiting at the intersection. Senoia was fairly quiet and still for a Saturday afternoon, save for the handful of teenagers riding around in jacked-up trucks and beaten-down old cars. He resituated his hand on the steering wheel and looked out his open window, his gaze drifting across the carwash to their left and the one whole vehicle that was currently parked outside of it.

Daryl chimed in, "'Spose we all got a natural sense fer sniffin' out evil."

Rick grunted in agreement. "That's one way to put it."

Merle scoffed loudly, but Beth ignored him. She'd already accepted the fact that he would never be totally okay with Rick Grimes' side of things, or the fact that his baby brother was often agreeing with the sheriff.

"What about the judge lady?" Beth reminded them. "Did she get back to you yet?"

Rick cleared his throat, pressing his foot down on the gas pedal as soon as the light turned green. "Yeah, she got back to me."

There was a beat of silence.

Daryl urged, "And…?"

Rick shrugged, sliding his hand down to rest on the bottom right quarter of the steering wheel while he leisurely drove down the business-lined street of Senoia. "And she said she's willing to sit down an' talk with us next week. If we really _need_ her insight."

Beth huffed out a humorless laugh. "Why _wouldn't_ we need her insight? She was one of the last people to spend time with Merle before he died. Kinda seems to me like she might have one of those 'gut feelings' or 'clues' that you mentioned. Plus, we know how terrible Merle is at relaying information accurately, so maybe she's got some details he left out."

Merle huffed out, "Hey!" But she ignored him.

Daryl grunted in agreement and Rick squirmed uncomfortably in his seat.

"Yeah, I know y'all are right," the sheriff admitted. "I just don't like botherin' somebody with that kinda power to help solve a case like this. People like her aren't much interested when there ain't a warrant that needs signed. She's likely to turn me in an' claim I'm goin' rogue, or tryin' to become some kinda vigilante."

"Ain't gotta worry 'bout that," Merle chirped up, more smug than ever. "That bitch has been teeterin' on the edge of losin' her judgeship fer years. She wouldn't risk throwin' the most popular sheriff under the bus over some shit like this. It'd be more trouble'an it's worth fer her." Beth looked over at him and he shot her a confident smirk. "_Trust_ me," he drawled.

Beth raised her eyebrows in slight disbelief, but she was inclined to take Merle at his word. For whatever reason.

"Merle seems to think you got nothin' to worry about," she said, meeting Rick's wary eyes in the rearview mirror and Daryl's surprised gaze from over his shoulder. "He says she's been teetering on losing her judgeship fer years now. She won't throw you under the bus fer somethin' like this. It'd be too risky. She's not gonna be willing to blow up her own spot just to try and get you in trouble."

Rick _hmph_ed thoughtfully while Daryl tossed out his burnt-down cigarette butt.

"Interesting," the sheriff hummed, scrubbing a hand across his stubbly beard as he squinted at the road ahead. "Must be why she transferred counties a few years back. I heard she got kinda pushed out, but nobody seemed to really know why… Maybe she's worth talkin' to after all. Reckon it wouldn't hurt to try—so long as she doesn't go reportin' my ass fer misconduct."

Merle scoffed, but Beth assured, "It really doesn't sound like she would do that. I think we should talk to her."

To her surprise, Daryl eagerly spoke up in agreement. "Yeah. We should. If she ain't got nothin' to hide that could get her in more trouble, I'on't see why she wouldn't be willing to tell us what she knows."

"Shit," Merle chuckled. "Y'all could always threaten to tell her boss 'bout the little _tryst_ we had. Pretty sure they already had their suspicions, all you'd be doin' is givin' 'em the testimony they need to can her ass."

Beth eagerly interpreted his message to the two living men inside the car: "Merle's pretty sure her superiors had their suspicions about him and her hooking up—he says we could use that against her." She paused and added a bit apologetically, "If we _have_ to."

Daryl shot her a look over his shoulder, but it was fleeting and she nearly missed it. If she was interpreting it correctly though, she thought he might've looked a bit impressed. Not that she was necessarily _proud_ of suggesting blackmail.

Rick shrugged, slowing the car as he approached another intersection. "Alright—yeah. That's good. I s'pose… I never been much fer blackmail, but…"

"Last resort," Daryl said.

"_Very _last resort," Beth added.

"Right," Rick said. "Well, If y'all are so sure, we'll give it a try. Guess I'll just have ta keep my fingers crossed that nobody'll be fillin' out reports about me anytime soon…"

Beth chuckled and Daryl scoffed.

"Yer paranoid," Daryl muttered.

"Never said I wasn't," Rick quipped, flashing his friend a smirk. "Gotta cover my ass, don't I? Ain't nobody else gonna pay Lori all that child support she's demanding."

"What a bitch," Merle remarked. "Pussy-whipped bastard."

"Nah," Daryl said. "Understandable."

Beth ignored the dead Dixon and quickly agreed, "It's alright. We get it."

And she did. But she couldn't help thinking that even if the sheriff wasn't willing to take that one step farther, she and Daryl would be.

They'd go over his head if they had to. They had no other choice.

* * *

_SafeZone National Insurance_ sat nestled within the heart of Senoia's small business district, a block away from Main Street and just between Barnes and Travis Street. A single blue sign posted in the front window boasted, "_Over 50 Million Satisfied Americans and Counting!_"

The building was easy to miss, seeing as it was situated right between a coffee shop and a salon, the front windows easily the most plain of all the businesses that occupied the street. The sign was a simple blue and white in block letters, and Beth would've overlooked it completely if she hadn't been searching for it.

No wonder she'd never bothered to take notice of the place before this. Even in a small town like Senoia, businesses like these were practically invisible unless you had a specific reason to visit.

Now that she was getting out of the car and gazing thoughtfully at the big glass windows, she was able to recall faint memories of driving by as a kid. It had always been part of the background—one of those things she always observed but never really _looked at_. Until it changed. She could remember that it had borne a different sign when she was really little. But sometime around kindergarten, the sign had changed. She'd only noticed because the sight was part of her routine; driving by with her mom when she brought Beth along to run errands, two or three days a week. She'd taken note of it like the changing color of leaves.

It wasn't one of those differences you really put much thought into, though. Just another little change in her ever-evolving hometown. Like the McDonald's in the center of town that had closed down and turned into a locally-owned cafe for a few years when she was in junior high, only to go under and permanently be replaced by a gas station. Or the bowling alley at the south edge of town that had shut down and been reopened as a Chinese buffet when she was in high school. Or even the bar that sat just outside of town and relocated to the opposite side—though still teetering on the city limits and boring the exact same name and management—shortly after she'd graduated.

All these little changes and differences had been taking place around her for her entire life, and even though she'd been born and raised right outside of Senoia, she still didn't know even half the people who called this town home. Which was a bit of an upsetting realization—she liked to think she knew this little corner of Georgia and everyone in it, that she knew how things worked around here. That everyone who knew her family's story had spent time with her or walked around her farm or sat in church beside her or even attended a class with her; that they'd shaken her hand and introduced themselves at one point or another, maybe even offered their respects.

She liked to think that people like Philip Blake were strictly outsiders who'd weaseled their way into her quiet little hometown under the guise of better intentions. She wanted to tell herself, very badly, that people like him didn't just live amongst them and move about undetected. That they didn't get overlooked or falsely trusted.

But now she was accepting the fact that someone like The Governor had most likely been born and bred here. Just like her. And she probably never would've given him—or anyone else—a second thought if it weren't for the dead guy literally screaming in her ear for a week straight.

What else had she overlooked? What other naive presumptions had she been making for nearly her entire life?

"You need me to come in for this one, or…?"

Merle's voice broke through Beth's thoughts and she gave him an incredulous look. He rolled his eyes and lit up a cigarette anyway.

She followed Rick and Daryl up to the front door of the small insurance business, pausing along with them in the middle of the sidewalk. Rick turned to face them both, a serious expression on his face.

"So we're gonna go in here an' ask to speak to Dale," the sheriff explained. "And is some bossy woman tries to intervene, just tell her it's confidential business. As far as these folks are concerned, I'm lookin' into a private case and y'all are my witnesses. If anybody wants details, we aren't allowed to disclose that kind of information at this stage of the investigation. Got it?"

Beth and Daryl nodded in understanding.

Merle chuckled from where he was leaning beside the front door, a cigarette pinched between his fingers. "Yeah, let's roll the dice an' see how well _this_ goes. Officer Friendly's got it _all _handled."

Beth shot him a sidelong glare over Daryl's shoulder and snapped back, "If we need you, maybe you should try giving a crap and helpin' us out for once."

Daryl looked at Beth, confused. "Huh? I didn't—"

"I think she's talkin' to Merle," Rick said with a smirk.

"I am," Beth explained, glancing to Daryl. "He's behind you. Sorry."

Merle laughed, shaking his head, but Daryl just turned away bashfully. "Still gettin' used to that."

"Hey, we all are," Rick assured, chuckling softly. Then he cleared his throat and gestured toward the front door. "Well, shall we?" He gave Beth a pointed look. "You ready?"

She knew what he meant. Was she ready to channel her Gift, control it, and attempt to milk this place dry of whatever clues it had to offer that might lead them to Philip Blake?

Was she ready to put herself to the test once again, with purpose and intent?

She nodded. "Yeah. Let's go."

**to be continued… **


	51. Parent-Teacher Conference

**Parent-Teacher Conference**

The inside of the business was small with minimal decorations and a very corporate-run feel to it. There were only a couple other doors—one labelled _Restroom_ off to the right and the other marked _Employees Only_ off to the left. The carpet was a pale blue that matched the wallpaper, and eight separate desks were lined up through the room, all with their own computers and phones and wheely chairs, small half-wall partitions separating each.

Despite the plain appearance, there were little details everywhere to show that real people worked here. Nearly every desk had a tiny pumpkin sitting atop it, along with multiple framed photos and other sentimental trinkets. A few of the partitions were plastered in Halloween cut-outs, little white ghosts and black cats and witches riding broomsticks. And more pumpkins. The wall next to the _Employees Only_ door had an _Employee of The Month_ board posted, and a framed photo of a different smiling employee for each month.

The entire office was quiet today. All of the desks were empty except one, where a slender, dark-skinned woman with long and meticulously dreadlocked hair sat. She was wearing a black pencil skirt and a flowy, dark orange top, perfectly pedicured toes peeking out from the tips of her matching orange, open-toed heels. As soon as the door opened and Rick stepped foot inside, her sharp gaze shot over to observe them.

Beth followed closely behind Daryl, who was following Rick. Before the door could fall shut behind them, the dark-skinned woman was out of her chair and approaching them, intense brown eyes set on Rick and the badge pinned to his shirt.

"Can I help you?" She gave Beth and Daryl no more than brief glances as she stopped before them and directed her tight-lipped smile at the sheriff.

Merle appeared just behind Beth, loitering near the front door and watching silently for a change. Though Beth heard him scoff when he saw the only other woman in the room. She couldn't tell if it was a negative expression or not.

"Yes, ma'am," Rick drawled, using his 'good ole boy' voice that Beth had grown so used to hearing. "I have a meeting with Dale—your supervisor?"

Something flickered in the woman's eyes and her tense smile curled upwards. She held out a hand for Rick to shake. "Of course. I think we spoke on the phone." Her tone was very formal and transparently professional, and she spoke with barely any hint of an accent, Southern or otherwise. But Beth could still tell she'd grown up somewhere around here. "You must be Sheriff Grimes."

Rick took her hand and gave it a soft but hearty shake, returning the woman's smile with a bit more sincerity. "We did. You're Michonne?"

The woman with the dreadlocks—Michonne—smiled a little wider and quirked an eyebrow. "That's me. And who might your companions be?" Her gaze flicked across Beth and Daryl for no more than a second and her forced smile faded. "I must remind you, Mr. Grimes, that Saturdays are typically very busy for us, and we only meet with clients during the week. We have a lot of paperwork to catch up on. Dale doesn't really have time to be sitting down and entertaining y'all."

Rick didn't flinch, even though it was obvious that this woman was trying to intimidate him. (_Why_ she would be trying to intimidate him though, Beth couldn't figure out—did she have something to hide?) He maintained his calm and cool persona, letting his words drawl out in the most disarming Southern accent. "Oh, I know all about catchin' up on paperwork. These are my court-mandated witnesses. It's a complex case, very confidential. We won't keep him fer long. _Promise_."

He offered a charming half-smile to punctuate the end of his statement, but Michonne seemed less than impressed.

"Ohhh," Merle said, chuckling to himself. "_That's_ why he said she was sassy. She's _black_."

Beth tried to shoot him a very discreet glare of contempt, but he just rolled his eyes and grunted.

"I didn't say nothin' _bad_—but c'mon, you can tell when yer talkin' to a darky on the phone," he said matter-of-factly. "Ain't no wonder she was so uncooperative. Look, she's provin' my point right now!"

Beth had to fight her more instinctual urges and force herself to ignore him, to focus on the conversation taking place in front of her. But damn, maybe she should've brought the Djab Idol along after all…

Why was she helping him again? Oh, right—Daryl. Okay. She could move past it. She _had_ to.

Michonne didn't even try to fake a smile for professionalism's sake. She glared back at Rick with blatant disapproval, her jaw clenching and her deep brown eyes flicking over Beth and Daryl once more. Then she said, "Fine. Lemme see if he has time for you. I'll be right back."

Before Rick could respond or thank her, she was turning on her heel and striding very quickly and purposefully across the room towards the door marked _Employees Only_. She knocked once, turning the knob and pushing the door open without waiting for a response, then disappeared inside a second later.

Beth immediately turned to Merle and said, "Follow her in there—see what she's tellin' him."

Merle looked back at her cluelessly. "Why?"

"Just do it," she hissed, gesturing towards the door with urgency.

He threw up his hands in surrender. "Okay,_ fine!_ Fuck." Then he disappeared.

"Good thinkin', Beth," Rick commented. He'd turned to face her and Daryl and the trio huddled together, keeping their voices low.

She nodded. "I don't wanna jump to any conclusions, but this lady's actin' suspicious. Like they've got somethin' to hide."

"I agree," Rick said.

Daryl had a quizzical expression on his face, and he interjected quietly, "Court-mandated witnesses? Is that even a real thing?"

The sheriff shrugged. "Kinda. Not really in this situation, but _they_ don't know that. Just repeat what I said, alrigh'? If they don't wanna cooperate, I'll come up with somethin' else. Y'all just follow my lead."

"Why can't you just go in there and talk to him by yourself?" Beth asked. "Not that I don't wanna be present, but it'd make us look a lot less _suspect_, don't you think?" She gestured to the stark difference in their appearances, how Rick was clad in a uniform while she and Daryl were in plain clothes.

Daryl nodded and made a grunt of agreement, but Rick waved them off. "We ain't gonna get the answers we _really_ need that way. What if he doesn't wanna tell me nothin'? Or he only tells me what I _wanna_ hear?" He raised his eyebrows and gave Daryl a pointed look, using his own words against him.

The living Dixon's shoulders slumped and he _hmph_ed thoughtfully.

Then Rick looked at Beth and hushed his voice even lower, his tone gone very stern. "You can touch stuff—_see_ things. So why not people?"

Beth furrowed her brow and nearly sputtered in disbelief. "_What?_" She glanced to Daryl, expecting a matched level of indignance, but he was watching her expectantly. As though the sheriff's suggestion made perfect sense. "You mean like… _visions_? You think I'm gonna find out the truth by _touchin'_ this guy?"

Rick and Daryl simultaneously shrugged.

"I mean, touchin' that evidence gave you visions," Rick said. "Maybe it's the same with people and y'don't even know it yet."

Daryl chimed in, "Said you made a _breakthrough_. Said you can do a lot more if you just focus and have—what was it?" He glanced to Rick for help. "_Purpose_?"

"Intent," Rick corrected.

Beth sighed. "It's _both_. All three, actually. Purpose, control, _and _intent."

Rick opened his hands and smiled. "Perfect! You got _all_ those."

She sighed again, this time with an eye-roll.

"Don'tcha?" He asked, his smile faltering.

She shrugged. "I mean, yeah. I guess."

_Not what I had in mind, _she thought. _But when is that ever the case?_

Maybe Rick was onto something here. It wouldn't hurt to try, right?

Could it really be that easy?

"Y'know," Daryl muttered, looking at Rick. "This is startin' ta make me feel like a _cop_. An' I don't much like that feelin'. It's one thing to go snatchin' information from some randos in the city, but this guy pro'lly lives here, pro'lly already knows who we are."

Beth could hear his unspoken words: _This guy will know a Dixon when he sees one, and he won't wanna say shit._

Rick frowned. "Well, do you wanna find the guy who murdered your brother or not? Sometimes we gotta do what we gotta do, Daryl," he said plainly. "It's a small town, people are gonna talk no matter what. But yer more than free to step outside and take no part in this. Me an' Beth could prob'ly manage just fine. Honestly though, I'd rather have you there with us."

"So would I," Beth added quietly, meeting Daryl's eyes with a furtive expression.

He sighed and scratched at the stubble on his jaw. "Fine. But it better get us some damn answers…"

Rick raised his eyebrows. "That's what we're all here for, ain't it? Wouldn't have wasted the gas if we didn't think there was good reason."

"This guy pro'lly ain't even heard from The Governor in twenty years," Daryl said. "An' if he's got documents, he'll want a warrant—just like the insurance people."

"We don't know that yet," Beth argued. "He might have another piece to the puzzle. We just gotta figure out where it fits."

Rick smirked. "Couldn'ta said it better myself. Beth's right. This is all part of the process."

Daryl shrugged indifferently. "Whatever." He nodded his head in Rick's direction. "But yer doin' the talkin'."

"Already planned on it," the sheriff agreed.

Beth started, "We have—" but she was abruptly cut off by Merle reappearing beside her.

"The Nubian Queen of the office don't much like police sniffin' 'round on confidential business," he reported. "She's in there arguin' with the boss 'bout needing a warrant. Think she's got him convinced, too. He ain't gonna tell us shit till he's got a judge's signature in his hands. Not sure why—they don't seem like the criminal types to me. But the ol' man sounded a little shook anyhow. She keeps usin' a bunch of fancy legal terms."

"Crap," Beth muttered reflexively. She quickly remembered that the other men couldn't hear Merle, and opened her mouth to explain what he'd said.

But Merle interrupted again, "An' here she comes now ta let y'all get rejected by the bossman personally."

And sure enough, the _Employees Only_ door was opening and Michonne was stepping out. Rick, Daryl, and Beth all spun around to see the dark-skinned woman striding quickly towards them, a satisfied smile on her face. She stopped in front of Rick and gestured towards the door she'd just come out of.

"He said he'd be happy to have a brief chat with you, Mr. Grimes," she said, though the subtext was clear in her tone. _A brief chat in which he will very politely tell you no, just like I did._

Rick nodded and smiled at her. "Thank you, Michonne. It'll only be a moment."

Michonne smiled stiffly. "Of course."

She remained where she was and watched the trio as they crossed the small office and stopped in front of the _Employees Only _door. Rick knocked and a muffled "Come in!" emitted from behind the door, and he didn't hesitate to open it and step inside. As Daryl and Beth trailed closely behind, her eyes drifted up to the wall beside the door, where the _Employee of the Month_ portraits were posted. She noticed that Michonne's photo was hung in the October spot, smiling with perfect white teeth and looking more professional than ever.

Well, that explained why she was the only employee besides the boss in the office on a Saturday.

They entered the small room and shut the door behind them while Merle simply vanished and reappeared inside the office. The only furniture inside was a desk to the right with a chair behind it, two chairs sitting in front of the desk for guests, and a file cabinet shoved into a corner beside a rubber tree plant. The carpet and wallpaper were identical to the rest of the insurance office.

Beth couldn't see the man—Dale—sitting behind the desk past Daryl's broad shoulders. And then, as Daryl stepped aside, Dale stood up and stepped around the desk to greet them, his face obscured once more behind Rick's body as the two men shook hands and formally introduced themselves. Finally, Daryl stepped aside and she saw him, just as he was reaching out and exchanging a stiff handshake with Daryl.

They recognized each other at the same time, once Dale turned and met Beth's curious gaze. He looked almost exactly as she remembered: the same rounded face, the same big, expressive brown eyes, the same bushy black eyebrows and crown of white hair, the same bright white smile. The only difference was the effect of time: he had a few more wrinkles in his face and several more liver spots on his hands and neck, maybe a little less hair than years prior, but he wasn't limping or slouching, which was almost relieving.

She let out a little gasp, though unintentional. Then she smiled.

"Mr. Horvath?"

His dark eyebrows furrowed at first, but then his eyes lit up with recognition and he was returning her smile with one of his own. "Beth Greene? Is that you?"

She nodded and eagerly reached out a hand to shake, which he took in both of his. She felt a chill run down her spine for the briefest second, but admittedly, she hadn't been focusing on _seeing _anything. Whoops.

Before she could remember what her intentions had been and overcome the surprise of who Dale was, he'd released her hand and taken a half-step back.

"How have you been?" She asked. "I didn't know you worked here—I thought you retired from everything."

Dale chuckled. "Just from teaching. I haven't quite managed to pinch enough pennies for full retirement yet."

Rick and Daryl were looking back and forth between Beth and Dale with obvious confusion.

Just as Beth was about to ask another question, the sheriff interjected, "Y'all _know_ each other?"

"He was a substitute teacher at my high school," she explained.

Merle barked out a laugh. "'Course he was. Fuckin' small towns."

Daryl was shaking his head, but one glance at the expression on his face and Beth could tell he was thinking exactly what his dead brother had just said.

"That's right," Dale said cheerfully, looking to Rick. "She was one of the brightest students I ever had the pleasure of teaching. Even if only for brief periods of time." He shot Beth a wink and she beamed proudly.

It was true, Dale Horvath had always been one of her favorite teachers, even though he was just a substitute. She'd met his wife a few times when they'd visit the Greenes' church here and there. He'd basically known her since she was in middle school. Though she hadn't seen him around town in quite some time—she'd heard from her daddy that Dale had grown a bit reclusive after his wife died. She'd had cancer, like Annette. And she'd lost the battle after over a year of fighting, also much like Annette. Beth had wanted to go to Irma Horvath's funeral, but when the day came, she'd ended up having a panic attack and spending the entire day in bed. It had been only a year after her mama's funeral, and something about the prospect of another funeral had sent her into a dark spiral that took several days to break free from.

She still felt bad about bailing, and even worse knowing that he'd taken the time to attend her graduation in the midst of his wife's cancer treatments. But the fear of facing his inevitable disappointment had kept Beth from attempting to reach out to him after that. She'd heard he'd retired a few years back, and last she knew, he'd been taking a trip around the country in the RV that he and his late wife had purchased shortly before her diagnosis. He'd always talked about their dream of travelling the country once they were both retired.

Beth had already known that substituting at the high school was nothing more than a part-time side gig for Mr. Horvath, but she'd never actually taken the time to ask what he did full-time. Or maybe he'd mentioned it and she'd forgotten. Either way, she had her answer now: he worked at the only insurance company in town.

And a decade before she met him, he'd worked right alongside a murderer.

"Well, how 'bout that," Rick mused, smiling curiously as he looked from Beth to Dale. "Small world."

Dale's smile faltered and his gaze flicked back over to the sheriff. He gave a wary glance at Daryl, then said, "This is odd, Sheriff. Michonne seems to think you wanna have some kinda chat that would require a warrant—but _these two_ are with you." He gestured to Beth and Daryl.

Rick frowned, shifting his weight from one foot to the other where he stood and hooking his thumbs into the front of his belt.

Dale quickly added, "Not that I wouldn't be more than happy to catch up with Miss Greene here—" he shot Beth a warm smile and she returned it "—it's just that you and I spoke on the phone about somethin' in particular, and I can't see what the reasoning would be for their presence."

Rick quipped back without missing a beat, "That's the thing, Mr. Horvath. This is a very confidential case. These two are my court-mandated witnesses. I know, it's a little unconventional to have civilians assisting me—"

"A _little _unconventional?" Dale repeated, eyes widening.

"As of right now, I'm not permitted to disclose the exact purpose of their presence," Rick insisted. "Just know that whatever we discuss will stay between those of us in this room. You have my word."

Dale raised an eyebrow and said, "No offense, Sheriff Grimes, but your word doesn't mean diddly-squat to me. In all honesty, I voted for Officer Walsh to be sheriff. I've been less than impressed with your record in the department, and knowing that you've been given court-mandated witnesses, civilian or otherwise, is—I think, needless to say—a bit more than _worrying_." He flashed Beth an apologetic look before finishing very firmly, "I'm afraid I'm gonna have to ask for a warrant, sir. And if you don't have one, I'll be choosing to exercise my rights as an American citizen."

Rick sighed, staring back at the old man with a stiff expression. "So you're refusing to cooperate until I produce a warrant?"

Dale nodded.

Merle scoffed, slashing an arm through the air angrily and stalking off to sulk in the corner. "Jus' like I predicted—pointless. What's next? Track down the booty call so she can shoot us down, too? Well, let's get goin'."

Daryl took a step forward and spoke up, his voice gruff as he audibly fought to control his temper, "You don't even know who we wanna ask you about, how you gonna turn us away like that? The hell're you so worried about us findin' out, old man?"

Rick put out a hand and held it just in front of Daryl's chest, prepared to keep him back at a respectable distance. Dale appeared a bit taken aback, but he quickly grew defensive, speaking directly to Daryl now.

"No, I _don't_ know, and that's why I'm refusing. None of you have any right to come barging in here and demanding answers for God-knows-what."

Rick remained calm and measured. "If you ain't done nothin' wrong, then you ain't got nothin' to hide."

This statement seemed to infuriate Dale. His eyes went wide and he looked at the sheriff indignantly before snapping back, "That's exactly what the _Gestapo_ would say. This isn't a police state, Rick Grimes. And I won't be bullied into incriminating myself and getting involved with some _bullshit_ case that has nothing to do with me."

"He ain't wrong, ya know!" Merle remarked. "Y'all done fucked this one up by lettin' Officer Friendly go all Nazi on the old fucker."

Beth ignored him and focused on the two men bickering before her, and how Daryl was clearly forcing himself to stay a half-step behind Rick and not lash out like he wanted to. But the dead Dixon was right.

She knew Dale. He could be stubborn, but he always had his reasons. He was a smart, logical, morally driven man. A lot like her daddy. That's why she'd always liked him so much. Rick and Daryl were approaching this all wrong. They were attacking him and offending him. When all they needed to do was appeal to his senses.

He was a good, God-fearing man. He would want to help. He just needed a justifiable reason.

Despite her desire to step in and referee, she was frozen in place, speechless as she witnessed the three men bickering. She wanted to defend Dale, but she had an obligation to defend Rick and Daryl. Plus, why _would_ Mr. Horvath be so resistant to answering questions? What was he afraid of?

_He's afraid of what he can't control, _a voice whispered at the very back of her mind. _He's afraid of being guilty by association. He's afraid of learning that someone he knew could be capable of terrible things._

"Say his name," Merle croaked.

She nearly jumped, unaware of the dead Dixon's close proximity when he spoke from right behind her. She didn't look back at him.

"Calm down now," Rick said, putting up his hands in surrender. "It ain't like that. Nobody's tryn'a incriminate you, least of all me. I don't care who ya voted for, this isn't personal by any means."

Dale's wide eyes were set on the sheriff. "That's why you're here on a Saturday with two civilians and no warrant?"

"Say his fuckin' name," Merle spoke louder.

A chill ran down Beth's spine. She didn't want to. She didn't want to risk ruining this whole thing, spooking Dale into complete silence.

She suddenly felt Daryl's eyes on her and met his gaze. He seemed to read something on her face that she hadn't even realized she'd been expressing. He looked back to Dale and crossed his arms over his chest, resembling Merle for the briefest moment.

"You knew Philip Blake," Daryl said flatly. "True or false?"

Dale's face went pale and he wouldn't meet Daryl's gaze for longer than a second. Merle cackled with satisfaction and took a step back, away from Beth.

Dale quickly shook his head and said, "I haven't heard that name in over a decade. Whatever he's done now has nothing to do with me." He looked at Rick with defiance, his mouth set in a flat line and his brown eyes still wide and alight.

Rick repeated his words with extra emphasis, "Whatever he's done _now_?"

Daryl interjected, "So this ain't the first time somebody's come 'round askin' ya 'bout him."

Dale's expression remained rigid and unchanging, defiant.

"This ain't the first time somebody's connected The Governor back to you," Rick guessed, narrowing his icy blue eyes at the old man. "Ain't that right, Mr. Horvath?"

Beth bristled and she could practically _see _the invisible walls around Dale rising higher and growing thicker at the sound of Philip's alias.

No no no, this was all wrong. Why were they interrogating her old teacher like he was some kind of _criminal_?

But what the hell was she supposed to say to fix it? How could she step in and make this better without sacrificing the entire purpose of their visit?

Dale straightened his back and squared his shoulders, and when he spoke, he was focused on Rick. "I think it's time y'all leave. I have paperwork to finish, and I'd prefer not to spend my entire Saturday in the office."

Rick sighed, defeated. Daryl tensed up like he was preparing to argue, but one look from the sheriff snapped his lips shut and curled his mouth into a scowl. Merle was sulking behind Beth, watching with narrowed eyes and a scowl that matched his brother's.

"I understand," Rick said, audibly disappointed and frustrated. "I assume I'll have to get that warrant before we speak again."

"That's the _first_ accurate assumption you've made all day, Sheriff Grimes," Dale quipped.

Then the old man turned and looked at Beth, the rigid expression on his face softening to an apologetic gaze. "I'm sorry Beth, but I'm just not sure what you're doing with these men and I cannot, in all good conscience, sit down and speak with y'all about someone I haven't worked with in nearly twenty years."

She nodded, warmth blossoming across her face. She wasn't sure why she suddenly felt so embarrassed, but she did. She felt like she'd done Dale wrong somehow. "It's okay, Mr. Horvath. I understand. We just…"

Beth paused, sighing and glancing away for a second before returning his gaze with an almost pathetic look. She shrugged sadly. "Well, nevermind. You have every right to say no. It was nice to see you again."

Wait… was she _really_ about to play this card in order to get the answers they'd come for?

She met Rick's eyes for a split-second and they seemed to silently communicate. And just like that, she decided: _yes_. Yes, she _was_ about to play that card.

There was a man's life at stake here. A man's _soul_. When she listened close, she could hear Papa Legba laughing coldly from somewhere at the very back of her mind. She could feel him waiting for her to slip up.

She had no choice but to play every card she'd been dealt.

Without any more argument, Rick nodded his head at Dale and motioned for Daryl to follow his lead.

"You have a good day now, Mr. Horvath," the sheriff said.

"You do the same." Dale relaxed at that and watched with visible relief as Rick and Daryl turned and headed for the door.

"What the fuck?!" Merle cried, watching the scene play out with nothing less than indignation, completely oblivious to the silent exchange between Rick, Daryl, and Beth. He threw his hands up in the air and let out a groan of frustration. "That's it? We ain't even gonna strap 'im down? No Good Cop-Bad Cop? No waterboarding? This is such _bullshit_!"

He was clearly more than ready to leave, and proved so by promptly disappearing in an angry huff.

But Beth ignored him and hesitated, waiting until the other two living men had stepped out of the room before she moved to follow them.

And then, just as she did, Dale's voice caught her attention from over her shoulder.

"Beth, wait—"

She stopped and turned back, fully aware that Rick and Daryl were already stepping away from the open door and crossing the office to where Michonne was waiting for them. But she kept the same pitiful, defeated expression plastered on her face.

Dale lowered his voice and took a step towards her until they were less than an arm's reach apart. He looked down at her with genuine concern and asked, "You're runnin' around with the Sheriff and a Dixon boy? Does yer daddy know about this?"

Beth huffed out a breath and smiled almost bashfully, rolling her eyes. "Yes, Mr. Horvath. He knows. And he's pretty fond of 'em both."

Dale didn't seem relieved by that statement. His eyebrows rose and his eyes widened once more. "So what _are_ you doin' with them? Besides interrogating people who've lived in this town longer than you've been alive?"

Beth reeled at that, a bit shaken by the harsh tone in her former teacher's voice, but tried not to let it show. However, she was pretty sure it did, because as soon as he'd said it, a mixture of regret and confusion appeared on Dale's face. He looked like he was about to apologize.

But she quickly cut him off, forcing all of her remaining confidence into her voice, "You wouldn't believe me even if I told you."

His dark eyebrows furrowed together and a deep crease formed in his forehead. He frowned, gazing down at her uncertainly.

"Y'know," he started very slowly, keeping his voice low and his eyes focused intensely on hers. "I never questioned your absence at Irma's funeral."

Beth's breath hitched in her throat.

"But," he went on, growing more somber. "I heard… about your accident." He nodded his head very vaguely towards the general direction of her left wrist. "I'm glad you recovered. And I want you to know that I understand. I've never held ill feelings towards you, Beth. Grief is one hell of a monster, and we all have to fight it off in our own way. On our own time."

Beth swallowed hard and struggled to maintain eye contact. She felt all of two inches tall as she realized how awful she was for trying to play the sympathy card against this man. He didn't owe her anything, least of all his knowledge about Philip Blake.

Nonetheless… she _needed_ that information.

"Thank you," she choked out, immediately clearing her throat and glancing away sheepishly. She could feel her cheeks blushing hot again. "I'm sorry I never made it to Irma's funeral. I… just couldn't do it."

"I know," Dale said.

"Mr. Horvath, I felt awful," she admitted. "Because you came to my graduation and made time to congratulate me. But I couldn't even show up when it mattered most."

Crap. Where was this coming from? She hadn't meant to play _this_ deep into the sympathy card.

But then again, maybe it wasn't part of the play at all. Maybe she was just being honest with someone she hadn't seen in years.

Dale shook his head. "Don't think of it that way. I would've attended your graduation come Hell or high water." He gave her a light-hearted smile that she couldn't help but mirror, though it quickly faded. "Losing Irma was a little too much like losing Annette. You had to do what was best for you. I've known that for quite some time."

She nodded meekly, clasping her hands together in front of her like she was fifteen years old and asking for a chance at extra credit again. "Yeah. That's—well, like I said, it's hard to explain—but that's part of the reason I'm tryin' to help Sheriff Grimes and Daryl."

Dale frowned, gazing back at her quizzically. "How so?"

"Closure," she replied simply.

Something darkened in Dale's eyes and he glanced away. Frowning deeply, he sighed, and without meeting her eyes, he muttered, "This has something to do with that Dixon boy, doesn't it?"

Beth nodded but didn't speak, pursing her lips and trying to remain discreet.

He sighed again, hesitating. Then he muttered very quietly, "I heard his brother hung himself…"

A pregnant pause hung in the air between Beth and Dale. She stared back at him expectantly, waiting for him to meet her eyes.

When he finally did, he softly asked, "That's not true… is it?"

He was watching her. Tense with dread as he awaited an answer.

She slowly shook her head.

He glanced over her shoulder, assuring that Rick and Daryl had walked away from the open door behind her. Then he turned and headed to the chair behind his desk.

"Close the door and sit down, Beth. I think we have some things to discuss."

**to be continued… **


	52. Crash Courses in Being a Grown-Up

**Crash Courses in Being a Grown-Up**

Dale settled into the seat behind his desk and scooted up close to the edge, resting his elbows atop the surface and folding his hands before him. Beth gingerly sat down in one of the chairs opposite, perched on the edge of the seat with both hands wrapped around the small purse that was strapped across her torso and hanging against her hip.

For a moment, she felt like she was back in high school, sitting in front of Mr. Horvath and asking for help with the homework assignment, or just asking him to elaborate on the lesson he'd taught during class. And then she realized that she'd spent more time talking to men that sat behind desks over the past week than she had in the past six years. From Pastor Tee to Rick to Gareth, and now Dale. She always felt like she was begging a favor, or somehow trying to swindle them. And she admittedly was.

She didn't like to think of this as swindling Dale out of information, though. She was simply trying to… _persuade_ him to be honest.

Which was difficult, because she couldn't quite rid herself of the natural balance in their relationship; he'd always been the adult, the teacher, the father-like figure, and she'd always been the child, the student, the naive daughter-he-wished-he-had.

But she was grown up now. And she had a very grown-up task to complete.

He was staring across the desk at her with those big brown eyes, wide and expectant, as he asked, "So, what exactly _are_ you doin' with those two men outside?"

Beth put all her energy into maintaining the stoic and self-assured look on her face, hoping it would leak through to her voice. Hoping to sound confident and grown-up. "Well, I've known Sheriff Grimes for years. I babysit his kids sometimes."

"And Daryl Dixon?" Dale urged.

She responded as rigidly and to-the-point as she could, "His brother was killed. It was staged as a suicide. He wants closure."

Dale quirked one eyebrow. "_He_ wants closure? Or you do?"

She opened her mouth, prepared to tell a half-assed lie, but he cut her off before she could.

"What do you even have to do with that guy, Beth? With _anything_ involving his family?" His face fell and his eyes darkened. "Don't tell me you're _seeing_ him."

Her spine stiffened and she had to bite back a sharp retort. She reminded herself to act mature. To remain confident.

"Yes, I am," she lied. Then she continued with the truth: "And I care about him. And I _know_ Merle was murdered, just as well as Daryl does. Rick believes us, and he's tryin' to help us—"

"That man is twenty years your senior, Miss Greene," Dale interrupted, taking on a very stern and father-like tone.

Without hesitation, she leaned forward and argued, "And I'm twenty-four years old, Mr. Horvath. Over half of my classmates, all of which you taught right alongside me, are already married and on their second or third kid. I'm an adult. I think I can make my own decisions when it comes to who I choose to associate with—or _date_."

She couldn't even fathom being in a romantic relationship with Daryl. No, not really. But the harsh judgment coming from her old teacher was sending up her defenses, and she almost felt offended for Daryl's sake. Also for her own sake, because why did everyone insist on treating her like she was still sixteen? At the same time, she couldn't help but feel a bit hurt as well. She wouldn't have thought Dale would be so quick to pass judgment. She'd always respected him for being level-headed and understanding.

Then again, how on earth could she ever expect him to understand _this_? She simply couldn't. So she had no choice but to lie a little bit and make it sound… _believable_.

There was a man's soul at stake here, after all.

Dale quickly retaliated, "That's all well and good, but it still doesn't explain why you're posing as some kind of phony _witness_ to a very clearly _illegal_ investigation." His tone softened just the slightest as he added, "We can both be adults here, Beth. If you can just be honest with me. I know how intelligent you are. I know you wouldn't be getting involved in something that could land you in trouble." A shadow of doubt flickered across his face. "Would you?"

Beth swallowed hard and retained her composure, refusing to break their intense eye contact, putting even more confidence into her voice. "Of course not. I don't know how to explain it to you without soundin' like a lunatic, but it's not _technically_ illegal." _Not yet, _she thought. "We're not doin' anything _wrong_. We didn't come here to incriminate you or invade your privacy—"

"Then what _did_ you come here for?" He cut her off sharply, raising his eyebrows. "Adult to adult."

She frowned but didn't waver. "Adult to adult, _Dale_?" She'd never called him by his first name before, but she felt she had to right now in order to add the necessary weight to her words.

He nodded.

She explained with the most self-assured voice she could muster, "Merle Dixon was killed, and we have reason to believe it was Philip Blake. He calls himself The Governor now, and he made a deal with Merle and Daryl's dad years ago. That deal resulted in the death of their mother, the near-death of Daryl, and a big insurance payout for Will Dixon. Will used the money to go off the grid and avoid payin' up for his little deal. So Philip Blake was screwed outta half the money that he thinks he's entitled to. Then he caught wind of Will Dixon's death, which led him to finding Merle. He wants the money he's owed. Merle didn't have it, so Philip killed him. He staged it to look like a suicide and nobody questioned it because of Merle's reputation. And if we don't find Philip and stop him, Daryl is next on his list." She paused to take a breath before quickly adding, "And we told Rick about it and showed him all the evidence we got to prove it, and he knows it's not enough to make a real case that anybody will give a crap about, but he also knows we're _right_. He wants to stop this guy from killing anybody else just as badly as we do."

Her words registered in his mind slowly, if the small range of emotions crossing his face in a very short amount of time were anything to go by. He seemed to be a bit befuddled at first, but he eventually landed on something that looked like astonishment. With a hint of dread.

Then he asked, "And what part of any of that led you here? To _me_? What makes you think I have any information that could possibly help?"

Beth paused and back-tracked in her memory, searching for the best explanation, before responding, "We found out a lot about Philip Blake, but not enough. He's gotten away with a lotta bad stuff just because they didn't have the technology to trace it back to him. He served time in prison and recently got released, and he's tryin' to stay under the radar by using his dead brother's name. He's been gone fer so long that nobody suspects him—"

"Will Dixon's death," Dale interrupted, an intrigued spark in his eyes. "Is _that_ what kicked this off? His eldest son died less than a year after him… I found that to be a little odd."

"Because it is," Beth confirmed. "You're right. Philip didn't know where to start looking until Will's obituary was published."

She could practically see the gears of Dale's mind working behind his thoughtful round eyes, putting together the pieces of what she was telling him. She couldn't help but feel a boost of encouragement. Maybe he would realize that she wasn't lying, that she couldn't make this stuff up even if she _tried_.

Dale frowned. "That murder," he said uncertainly. "The one that happened just outside of town recently—what was it, a boy in his twenties? They're saying he was a drug dealer, chalking his death up to some pissed-off client or rival dealer… Did that have anything to do with... ?"

He trailed off, but he didn't have to finish the question for Beth to understand what he was implying.

She nodded in affirmation. "Yes. Jesse Pinkman. He was Merle's dealer. Philip got his information from Merle's house and tracked him down. He's killing anybody an' everybody that he thinks could be lying about this thirty-year-old stash of money that probably doesn't even exist anymore. And he's gettin' away with it because nobody _cares_ about these people—they don't expect anythin' less than this from guys like Merle or Jesse. Just because of their reputations."

Dale's brows were furrowed together and he gazed back at Beth with deep contemplation. She could tell she was hitting his soft spot. He was a man of reason. He was a compassionate human being. He would understand _this_. And it wasn't even a lie.

He was taking a moment to respond, so she took advantage and spoke from her heart, hoping she could crumble the last of his walls with honest empathy.

"You're the one who taught me about the industrial prison complex in this country, about the corrupted justice system," she reminded him. "You always talked about how the government and the police were a joke, and how addicts and minorities and other marginalized groups get overlooked time and time again. I can understand why you don't trust Sheriff Grimes, and maybe I can understand why yer a little uncertain about Daryl. But I'm telling you, with full confidence, that we're trying to do the _right thing._ Because goin' through the system won't get us anywhere. This guy has already been to prison and back, and he's _dangerous_. He's crazy enough to do it an' smart enough to get away with it. Daryl's a good man, no matter what you might've heard about him. He doesn't deserve to be murdered."

_Nor does he deserve to be sentenced to Hell for eternity. _But she didn't say that part.

Dale still seemed wary. He was worrying his lower lip as he listened, letting the tense silence hang between them once she finished.

"Sheriff Grimes," he said. "What's _he_ gettin' outta this?"

Beth nearly scoffed reflexively, but stopped herself at the last second. She cleared her throat and asked, "What's he _getting_ out of this? What is there to get?"

Dale became a bit defensive again. "I'm not sure. That's why I'm asking you."

She shook her head, giving him a look that bordered on incredulity. "He's not gettin' _anything_ out of it. He doesn't _want_ anything out of it."

That sparked a light in the old man's eyes, though whether it was suspicion or renewed interest, Beth couldn't tell. He leaned forward and asked, "Then what are _you_ getting out of it? Are you doin' some kinda internship or something? Just because you're his babysitter doesn't mean he has any right to go draggin' you into something this serious—somethin' this blatantly _illegal_."

She frowned, glaring back at him. "No one _dragged_ me into this."_ Except Merle_, she couldn't say. "If anything, _I_ convinced _him_. I'm tryin' to do what's _right_. I don't want a _murderer_ runnin' around my town."

"Then why can't the Sheriff himself open a case and do this without the aid of two _very_ _underqualified_ civilians?" Dale retorted coldly.

Beth squared her shoulders and answered with the most certainty she'd had since sitting down, "Because he knows the system is all red tape an' bullshit—just like you've always _said_ it was. And he knows it because he's experienced it for _years_. He's watched guys like Philip walk free an' repeat their crimes over and over _and over_. While he stood by an' did what was _legal_. If _we_ don't go the extra mile to put this kinda evil in its place, then _no one_ will."

Dale didn't seem to have a response to that.

"You can have whatever opinion you wanna have about Rick," she continued. "But trust me, Mr. Horvath… I _know_ him. He's a good man, and if he _could_ do more, he would. If he could open an actual, official investigation and put The Governor in prison for life, he'd do it in a heartbeat. But you an' I both know he doesn't have that kinda power. He's goin' out on a limb to help me and Daryl. He's basically risking his whole career. He didn't come here to scare you or interrogate you. He just really, _really_ wants to stop Philip Blake from murdering Daryl, or anybody else." She paused and quickly added, "And so do I."

Dale sighed and looked across the desk at Beth, an almost sympathetic lilt in his frown. "While I can respect what yer saying and empathize with your point of view, Beth, I just… I still don't understand how this has led ya to me. I don't see how I could be of any help in this vigilante justice."

Beth argued gently, "It's not vigilante justice." _At least I really hope it's not. _"It's just doin' what nobody else will do. It's standing up for what's _right_—isn't that what you've always supported?"

A deep crease formed in his forehead and his wrinkles shone a bit more prominently as he furrowed his dark eyebrows. "Of course it is. But—"

"You worked with Philip Blake," she cut in.

His lips snapped shut and his eyes grew wider.

Beth continued, "_That's_ what led us here. We came here on the chance that you might know somethin'. _Anything. _You shared this office building with him when he lived here. You were his coworker when he made the fraudulent insurance deal with Will Dixon—the one that killed Daryl's mama and nearly killed him. You knew Philip Blake, even if it was just in passing. You're one of the only people who might have some kinda answers. All we need is a clue or a tiny lead. Maybe you know somethin' that _could _help usopen a real investigation. We're not gonna figure this out in a day, but every new detail gets us a little closer to understanding him, to findin' him… to _stopping_ him."

Dale's eyes seemed to grow darker and he leaned forward, intertwined fingers tightening before him atop the desk's surface. Beth was shrinking beneath his gaze, unprepared for this level of intensity.

He lowered his voice and asked, in the most serious and somber tone she'd ever heard from him, "And how exactly d'you plan on stopping him? You and Rick and Daryl? If the system won't work—even for a _sheriff_—and you know this won't result in a lengthy prison sentence, no matter how much evidence you might _illegally_ obtain… then what're ya workin' towards, Beth?"

Shit. She didn't have an answer for that. Not even a lie.

Would Merle have a retort for this? She almost wished he'd stayed behind. That dead asshole was probably standing outside on the sidewalk, chain-smoking and eavesdropping on Rick and Daryl's conversations. And she was stuck here, sitting in front of a man she highly respected, trying to think of a plausible lie that could make him open up about everything he knew pertaining to Philip Blake. Trying to gather just one single, useful thing that might lead them somewhere else.

What the hell was she supposed to say?

Dale must not've expected much of an answer, if he'd expected one at all, because his expression didn't change and neither did his tone. He merely lifted his eyebrows in the way that he did when he was emphasizing his point.

And then he asked, even quieter than before—so low that Beth had to strain her ears in order to hear him correctly—

"When you finally catch this man… when you are inevitably presented with the opportunity to stop him once and for all… what kind of justice d'you have planned? _How_ will you stop him without puttin' him in prison?"

Beth blinked. A knot had formed in her throat and she swallowed past it, though her throat felt dry as a desert afterwards. She parted her lips like she was about to reply, but she had nothing to say.

Dale's eyebrows rose higher, but his voice remained low. "Good lord…" He muttered. "Y'all are planning to _kill_ him, aren't you?"

Even though Merle wasn't present, Beth could practically hear his voice: _"Death is the least that murderin' asshole deserves."_

And honestly?

She couldn't agree more.

God help her.

But then again, it was partially _God_ who'd gotten her into this whole predicament in the first place. Wasn't it? At least according to Lady Jadis and the Swamp Witch and the Witch of Youghal.

Her mouth was still dry and so was her throat, thus her response came out half-croaked. Nonetheless, it held the same weight.

"It's not the _plan_. But if that's the only way to stop him… we'll do whatever we have to do."

This was not a lie. Not a single part of it was fabricated or decided on the spot. Beth genuinely believed the statement that had poured from her mouth. And she most definitely questioned it—what it meant, the weight it held, the harsh truth she was very suddenly and blatantly facing.

That didn't make it any easier to say, though.

Perhaps this was what Florence had been referring to in her dream. Beth could barely recall piecing the logic together on the other side of that mysterious navy blue door, and she hadn't taken the time to _really_ ruminate on what had defined itself as basic logic within her dreaming state. But now that it was being laid out right before her, so clearly stated and plainly defined during the height of consciousness…?

How _else_ did she think this would end? How else _could_ it end?

Stopping The Governor meant stopping Philip Blake. And that meant… _ending_ him. Somehow preventing him from ever hurting another innocent person again.

And she knew, deep down, nestled within the nearly inaccessible core of herself and her Gift, lying in wait beneath what she'd learned thus far:

Papa Legba demanded _two_ souls. Merle was irredeemable. But Daryl wasn't. So who better to send down to the Immortal Master of Dealmaking than The Governor himself?

"_Yes, it really is that simple, love."_

Now Beth could recall it. She could remember, very clearly, what it was that she'd figured out while sitting before Florence Newton and sipping tea. And she could also recall why she'd blocked it out in the first place; why she'd almost refused to acknowledge the conclusion.

Capital punishment? Was that really who she was? Was that what she supported and believed in?

Far from it. But she also couldn't support the idea of standing by and letting a demon have his way with an innocent soul at the cost of a very guilty one. She couldn't bear to sit by and do nothing when she knew she had the power to do _something_.

She was Gifted with the purpose of doing what was right. What was _necessary_.

As Florence Newton had taught her: she was quite literally born for this. If she could step back and forth between The Other Side and this mortal plane, then she could sure as hell make a tough decision that no one else was capable of making.

Beth wanted to remain optimistic for as long as possible. Because, who knew? Maybe Dale had some piece of information that could lead to another clue, and maybe they could somehow find a way to start a _real_ case against Philip Blake. Maybe if they worked hard enough, they could locate the loopholes necessary to pin The Governor for his crimes and send him back to prison for good.

Or, her pessimistic side reminded, maybe he'd slip through their fingers and slither out of the shadows to attack Daryl at the first chance he got, regardless of the threat of prison time.

They'd never know until they tried all their options.

"That's not reassuring in the slightest," Dale said. "You and I both know I could never take part in such a thing."

"You don't _have_ to," Beth argued, becoming more certain of herself as she spoke. "From the way yer refusin' to say anything directly about Philip Blake, it sounds like you already _knew_ what he's capable of—like you've known for a while. I reckon I didn't need to tell you that he was behind the Dixon fire and Will's big payout." His eyes flicked away from hers for a split-second and he cleared his throat, but she went on, "Mr. Horvath, I know you. I _trust _you. I've always respected you. And I would never do somethin' if I thought it might put you in danger. But you have ta believe me when I tell you… if we don't find Philip first, he'll find Daryl. And he'll probably wanna shut _me_ up, too."

The color slowly drained from Dale's face and she could see his adam's apple bob as he swallowed thickly.

She raised her eyebrows and finished, "So at the end of the day… whose blood would you rather have on yer hands?"

The first color to return to his face was a bright red that blossomed in his cheeks. He narrowed his eyes with disappointment and muttered quietly, "I have more blood on my hands than you'll _ever_ know about, Beth. But that doesn't mean I would ever condone somethin' like this—_murder_." He spat the word out like a bitter taste in his mouth. "This would be _murder_." He shook his head, looking at her with a mixture of disgust and sadness. "None of you are any better than him if you go down that path. Might I remind you, an eye for an eye leaves the whole world blind."

"Things are rarely so black and white as that," Beth quipped back, unsure of where this sudden confidence was stemming from. Then again, she _had_ learned a lot of very valuable lessons in the last week. "It might be easy to preach that old adage to a hundred high schoolers, but you know it's irrelevant in the real world."

Dale worked his jaw nervously, fingers clenching and unclenching before him. He sighed. "You can't let yourself cross that line, Beth. You can't let yourself become _that person_."

"I don't _want_ to kill him, or have any part in his death," she said. "And I definitely don't plan to. None of us do. We just know that, no matter what, he's gonna corner Daryl and kill him, and then he's gonna disappear. He won't stop until he finds the money, and the money doesn't exist. If it ever did, we have no idea where to find it because that information died with Merle… Philip Blake will kill _everyone_ he thinks is keepin' the secret from him. And he'll probably get away with it, _again_."

Dale looked like he was about to argue again, so she cut him off.

"And you know what person I _really_ can't let myself become? The person who would stand by and watch this happen, when I could've _done something_."

Whatever words he'd been preparing seemed to fall away, and Dale's gaze drifted down to the desk. He blinked long and slow, shoulders hanging a little heavier.

Then he let out a deep sigh. Without looking up, he muttered, in a brief moment of vulnerability and bare honesty, "He's an odd man. Lonely. Mysterious. I had my theories about the Dixon fire… it tore me up at night. Along with so many other things—maybe I shoulda said somethin'. But I was never one to cause a fuss. I couldn't risk the stability that Irma and I had worked so hard to achieve… He disappeared and I tried to put it all outta my head. I told myself his existence was no more than a very long, very bad dream."

Dale paused and dragged his eyes up to meet Beth's.

"Crazy enough to do it and smart enough to get away with it… What you said is accurate. That's all I know about him. It's all I've ever _really_ known about him."

Then Dale's face hardened right along with his tone and the vulnerability was gone, just like that. Beth could see his wall of defense going back up, higher and thicker than ever. "I promised myself, a long time ago, that I'd keep my distance and deny any knowledge of whatever he might've done, anything he may have said to me—most of which I've forgotten anyhow. And I won't break that promise today. Not even for you, Beth. I can't be connected to _anything_ that goes on with Philip Blake. I _refuse_ to be."

Beth's heart dropped and she looked back at him pleadingly. "Mr. Horvath, none of this ever has to come back to you—"

He leaned back in his chair and cut her off, "Call me _Dale_. Part of being an adult is accepting 'no' for an answer, Miss Greene."

She snapped her lips shut and felt her cheeks going red.

So much for assuming her old teacher was a sensible and compassionate man. Apparently she didn't have the first clue about appealing to someone's senses.

He rested his hands in his lap and gave her a stern look from across the desk. "Self-reflection and recognizing your own faults are also a part of being an adult. A very _vital_ part. You're playin' with fire here. You cannot be the judge, jury, _and_ executioner. Not even when you think you're justified. Not even when you have a _police officer_ on your side."

Beth chewed on the inside of her cheek, resisting the urge to argue. It would get her nowhere. He'd already told her everything he was going to tell her.

So what choice was she left with?

"I understand," she conceded.

Dale raised his eyebrows and leaned forward in his seat. "Do you? I know how determined you can be, Beth."

"Determined," she agreed, giving him a tight-lipped and very obviously forced smile. "Not _stupid_."

He shook his head and stood from his chair. "I would never insinuate that you're stupid. I'm just _worried_—I don't think somethin' like this is what a young woman with your capabilities should be doin' in her spare time."

_You have no idea what I'm capable of, _she thought.

She stood from her seat as well and nodded meekly as he walked around the desk to approach her. She was no longer thinking about a polite response. No point in wasting her energy on a last-minute plea for understanding just to watch it fall on deaf ears.

She was too preoccupied with remembering Florence Newton's curious questions.

"_What of the good ones who loved Philip? Those who were connected to his soul by the unseen threads of Fate? Those who suffered for him?"_

What of them? What insight could she gain from knowing how he operated amongst others?

Suddenly, Beth knew exactly what she had to do.

Dale's body language told her that he was preparing to reach out for a goodbye handshake, as was appropriate. He was even putting on a smile for politeness's sake. So she did the same, mirroring his appearance, and reached out her hand between them.

And as he was taking that step closer and reaching out his wrinkled old hand, she was focusing on the inner workings of her consciousness. She was channeling the subconscious part of her mind and trying to merge it. She was repeating to herself, inside her head: _Mindfulness._ _Intent. Purpose. Control._

Beth kept her eyes locked on Dale's, but she felt his warm and weathered hand grasping hers. This time, as soon as their skin made contact, the chill that ran down her spine morphed into an electric jolt. It seemed to course through her entire body within a split-second, sending her chest aflame and numbing her feet. Her heartbeat slowed and she could feel her bones evaporating into dust and floating away on a gentle breeze. The tentacle-vines were writhing beneath her skin, awakened and itching for freedom.

Inside her head, she was silently begging, _Show me everything you know about Philip Blake. Tell me everything you've ever thought about him. I know you. I know you have a good heart and a pure soul. I know you've gotta have something that could help us. Give me the whole truth. Let me see your secrets, no matter how shameful they might be._

The blackness began at the edges of her vision, rapidly growing and blooming inward.

And then she tried to prepare herself for what was about to happen next.

**to be continued… **


	53. Beth Greene and The Elevator of Unsettli

**Beth Greene and The Elevator of Unsettling Memories**

The darkness rapidly consumed her.

As Beth grasped Dale's hand and allowed her Gift to take over, the tiny office within the insurance business disappeared completely. All the furniture and shapes and colors around her dribbled away like wet paint.

This time was different from the others. Beth could tell. Though she couldn't pinpoint the exact difference, it just _felt_ different.

Like she actually had control.

She didn't feel like she was falling this time. Nor did she feel like she was being swallowed up into something that might drown her. Quite the opposite, actually. For the first time, her numb feet still felt grounded. Or maybe that was her soul—her "Astral Self," her "Visitor" form, whatever it was supposed to be. It wasn't floating away right along with her bones. So that was a nice change.

Nor did she feel confused. In fact, even as her vision went black and she felt herself travelling _somewhere_ _else_, she kept thinking to herself how this had been Rick's idea. How it was not what she wanted to resort to, but that she had no choice besides to resort to it regardless. How it felt like some kind of invasion of privacy against her former teacher.

But Dale wouldn't tell her what she needed to know. So she was out of options. He didn't understand _exactly_ what was at stake here.

He would never understand.

A quiet voice echoed from somewhere in the unseen distance behind her, _"Here's not here."_

She had to remember that; she had a Gift. She was using it. She was doing what's right. She had to go wherever she needed to go, had to see whatever she needed to see. And she had to get back.

Yes. She remembered. She'd learned. She knew it well.

Remember yourself, Beth Greene, and you will never be lost.

Here's not _here_.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, cracking apart the thin layer of ice that had formed over her lungs. She listened to her own heartbeat. Felt it. Took note of how slow it was, how otherworldly it sounded inside her ears.

_Thu-ump. Thu-ump. Thu-ump._

She remembered who she was. What she was doing. How much was hanging on her efficacy.

A thousand different memories began shuffling through her head like a deck of cards, as they had multiple times before. But this time, she forced them to slow.

For the briefest second, she thought of Daryl—his cloudy blue eyes, his shaggy dark hair, the warmth of his hand in hers, and the gruff sound of his voice when it was carried to her ears by the chilly mid-October breeze. She thought of the bare honesty that was mapped throughout the lines of his face, and the pain in his tone when he spoke of Merle or their father. She thought of his strong arms cradling her and stopping her from hitting the floor. She thought of the look in his eyes when he'd realized just how powerful she actually was; when he'd realized just how much weight her Gift held, and how she was carrying it so gracefully. She thought of how much he was currently depending on her abilities, and how she was the only one who could save his soul.

Then she thought of how Florence had spoken of him. How she'd spoken of Beth's _purpose_.

And lastly, she remembered that Dale Horvath was a good man, and that he was hiding a lot of pain and guilt and shame… but he was also hiding a lot of valuable information.

Then she allowed herself to be taken where she needed to go.

* * *

_Beth slowly lifted her feather-light eyelids and looked around. Her vision was covered in a hazy filter, like she was watching an old film reel being projected upon a screen._

_She was standing in the middle of an elevator, big metal doors shut tightly before her. Four metallic walls encased her, illuminated by a fluorescent light from above._

_Music was filling her ears and she realized it was coming from the speaker overhead. Elevator music. Some sort of generic, relaxing piece by a composer who was long dead. It was kind of annoying._

_She didn't feel like she was ascending or descending, so she wasn't sure why she was inside the elevator. Unless it had malfunctioned and stopped. She was pretty sure that wasn't the case, though. Because it seemed to be waiting for her._

_To the right of the closed metal doors was a panel of seventeen buttons, three per row to make five rows of round, plastic buttons. The final row only consisted of two buttons. She looked a bit closer and realized that there were no numbers or letters to indicate where these buttons might take her, only symbols. Each button was labeled with something that looked like the Ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics she'd learned about in school. And she couldn't translate any of them._

_Except one._

_A bright red button at the very top was labeled '333' with bold, black letters._

_Beth rolled her eyes and scoffed aloud. Did Papa Legba really think she was that dumb?_

_She wasn't sure where to start, so she started from the beginning. She pressed her fingertip against the first button in the first row, and watched as it lit up._

_She felt the elevator moving beneath her feet. She was being taken to the next floor above. She looked up and saw the digital sign posted over the metal doors, watched as its display switched from 'AD2019B' to 'AD1984D1.'_

_The elevator halted. A soft __**ding! **__echoed around her. The button she'd pressed remained lit up to her right. She didn't move._

_The doors slowly opened. The elevator music went silent._

_Beth saw only darkness, so she took a hesitant step forward. Whatever lay outside of the elevator doors became illuminated just the slightest bit, though it was still too dark for her to discern anything more than silhouettes and shadowy shapes. So she took another step forward._

_It got lighter. A room appeared before her, dimly lit by table lamps and low-watt ceiling lights: a living room, with a couch and a chair and a TV that was currently turned off—one of those old TVs that had the fat back on it, which Beth hadn't seen in at least a decade. There was a coffee table cluttered with crisp white paperwork and pens and remotes. And to the right, quiet voices coming from a pair of shapeless shadows._

_Then she took another step and crossed the threshold, one foot outside of the doors and one foot planted inside. The light grew brighter and revealed the shadows to be people. Beth froze in place when she realized who they were._

_She watched a much younger Dale—near Maggie's current age—standing close to a brunette woman. It took Beth a moment to realize what she was seeing exactly, before she recognized the young Irma Horvath's high forehead, dimpled chin, and bright blue eyes. She'd never seen either of the Horvaths at this age, and she wasn't sure why she was seeing them now._

_But something told her it was important. The layer of surrealism remained coated over everything; like a reminder that she was witnessing the past as if it were an old film reel on a projector._

_Beth stood firm and still as she watched Dale, with a smooth, nearly wrinkle-free complexion and a dark hairline that was already beginning to recede, argue with his wife inside their living room. They were both dressed in all black, like they'd just returned from a funeral. And based off the somber expressions on their faces, they had._

_She couldn't look away. She was enthralled, listening closely and waiting for any mention of what could possibly be important about this particular memory._

"_Sweetheart, this is just another obstacle," Dale said, his voice soft and pleading. "Look at how much we've already achieved: the perfect house in the quiet little town, the steady job with benefits and retirement, the stability you always wanted an' never had—losin' people is just part of life."_

_Irma sighed and gazed back at her husband with exasperation. "None'a that means anything, Dale. It still leaves us incomplete. And the more I think about it, the more I realize that this is just another warning sign…"_

_She turned to the side and Beth realized her belly was round and extended. Irma was pregnant, but she didn't look to be more than five or six months along at the most._

"_A warning for what?" Dale countered. "Your aunt's condition has nothin' to do with you, nothin' to do with our family."_

_Irma frowned, but he smiled and reached out a hand to lovingly cup her lower abdomen. She gently pushed his hand away, shaking her head._

"_It has __**everything**__ to do with me, babe," she said. "With our family. If my mom can't afford her treatments—"_

"_I told you," Dale went rigid and looked down at his wife sternly, "I took care of it. At the expense of my own conscience… but I took care of it nonetheless. Your mother's gonna be fine. I wouldn't let her struggle." He took a step closer, raising a hand and wrapping it around her upper arm in an attempt at comfort. "But all this talk from you—it's worrying. Our streak of bad luck has to end sometime… you know that, right?"_

_Irma's eyes flicked away from his, drifting downwards. Her hands came up and gently cradled her lower abdomen, almost protectively. "Maybe it's not just bad luck. Maybe it's just… not meant to be. For us. Ya know, sometimes people just… don't ever get to be parents. And that's God's will." _

_Dale scoffed, his tone growing agitated. "Oh, please. You don't really believe that, do you? God's will? That's bullshit. There's nothin' wrong with you—or us. There's no reason to think that this could…" He paused and hesitated before finishing, "End… like the other times. This one's __**different**__. We know it. We both know it. We can feel it. This is gonna be the one, honey."_

_She turned away from him, sighing sadly. "And then what? I won't even get to see them grow up before—"_

"_You stop that talk right now," he interrupted sharply. "I won't hear it."_

"_Well it's time to open your ears, Dale," Irma argued, turning on him with teary eyes. "Cancer took my grandma ten years ago, now it's taken my aunt and it's tryin' to take my mom. It's only a matter of time before it takes me, too."_

"_We have plans, sweetheart. I won't let that happen," he promised. "We have a lot of life to live together. And I'm not gonna do it alone."_

"_And what if you have to?" She looked back at him sadly. "You know what they say: when men make plans, God laughs."_

_He frowned, dark eyebrows furrowed together. "I have the benefits that your mother and aunt could never afford, Irma. That's the difference between our plans and theirs. Anything that happens, we'll make it through. I'll pay for treatments, or-or if you want a mastectomy, we can nip it in the bud, so to say. Maybe a hysterectomy after the baby is born, just to be safe. We can make sure—"_

"_Just stop," she cut him off, putting up a hand, and his mouth snapped shut. "It's not… it's __**never**__ that easy."_

_Beth finally managed to snap out of her enthralled trance and look away._

'_No, this is a private memory,' she told herself. 'This has nothin' to do with The Governor, it's none of my business. I stepped off onto the wrong floor.'_

_Dale and Irma had never had a child. And though Irma had beaten cervical cancer once, she eventually succumbed to a hereditary type of breast cancer that no surgery could've prevented._

_Beth already knew how this part of the sad story ended. She had no desire to learn all the gruesome details._

_So she stepped back and returned to the elevator. The scene outside the doors darkened and flickered, but then the doors slid shut in front of her. The calming classical music resumed around her. But there was a dull aching in her chest now that had nothing to do with the writhing tentacle-vines within her core. She already felt guilty for seeing something so private._

'_I need information about Philip Blake,' she thought, silently willing it into existence. 'I need to know anything I can learn about him. We never know what could help. Maybe if we could get an idea of how his mind works…'_

_She reached out and pressed the second button in the first row—another symbol she couldn't interpret. It lit up and the elevator began to move around her, gliding up to the next floor. The display above the doors switched from 'AD1984D1' to 'AD1985D1.'_

_**Ding!**_

_Then it stopped. The doors slid open once more and Beth took a cautious step forward, waiting for whatever was waiting outside to begin forming._

_And it did. The music paused._

_The shadowy shapes resembled a room that looked somehow familiar. So she took another step forward, eagerly this time. As soon as she crossed the threshold, it lit up with fluorescent lighting and morning sunlight shining in through big, plate-glass windows. And she immediately realized it was the insurance office._

_But it wasn't SafeZone National Insurance. Not as she'd ever seen it, anyway._

_The film-like haze remained over everything in sight. She was viewing the scene from the side of the room opposite to the front doors, near the back row of desks. She glanced to her left and saw Dale, nearly identical to how he'd appeared in the previous memory. Though this time, he was dressed in casual business attire rather than all-black funeral clothing. He was sitting at his desk and staring forward with a smile, his coworkers seated at their respective desks throughout the room._

_Beth noticed that everyone's clothing and hairstyles were very mid-80s chic, and there were Easter decorations tastefully arranged around the room._

_She looked forward to see what Dale was watching: a middle-aged blonde man she didn't recognize was standing at the front of the room, beaming proudly. Next to him was a man with dark brown hair, no older than early-to-mid twenties, and for some reason, he looked… familiar. He was smiling nervously, shoulders slightly hunched as he cradled a small box full of office supplies against his chest._

"_Good morning, team!" The blonde man announced with a booming and cheerful voice before gesturing to the man beside him. "I'd like to introduce y'all to the newest employee of Senoia Sanctuary Insurance: Philip Blake!"_

_Holy __**shit**__._

_Beth gaped, staring at the young man in a new light. __**Of course**__ it was him. How had she not seen it? He had no lines of aging on his face, and his hair was lighter and cut short rather than slicked-back. But it was him. No doubt about it. He had that same odd glint in his blue-green eyes. That same stiff jaw._

_Everyone in the room clapped politely in greeting, Dale included. _

_The blonde man gestured towards the empty desk that sat across the aisle from Dale, walking Philip over to it, and said, "You'll be right here at this vacant desk beside Dale—y'all will be neighbors!"_

_Philip nodded and lowered his head, shuffling over to the empty desk while Dale watched with a smile._

_The blond man turned on Dale and said with a chuckle, "Looks like you're not the new guy anymore, Horvath."_

_Dale laughed and responded, "I haven't been for over a year, Frank."_

_The blond man—Frank—grinned and pointed to Philip, who was busily unpacking his box of supplies and setting up his new workspace. "I trust you'll make Mr. Blake feel right at home."_

_Dale nodded. "Of course." And as Frank turned and walked away, he looked over at his new coworker. Dale stood and crossed the aisle with one long step, reaching out his hand with a warm and welcoming smile. "HI there, Philip. I'm Dale. I reckon we'll be neighbors from here on out."_

_Philip offered him no more than a wary sidelong glance before resuming his unpacking. He was no longer smiling when he muttered, "I don't usually make friends with my neighbors."_

_Dale shrugged, brushing off the odd tone to the other man's statement and lowering his hand awkwardly. "No problem—I'm not one to push anythin'. But if ya'd like to change that policy, I can always use a new friend. Or even a convivial coworker." He grinned. _

_Philip gave him another sidelong look, pausing for no more than a second. Then he let out a soft hmph and said, somewhat forcibly, "That sounds just fine, Dale Horvath. I appreciate yer courtesy."_

_That was enough for Dale. He nodded and went back to his own desk._

_Like a quiet voice echoing inside her own mind, Beth could hear Dale's thoughts as if they were her own: he wasn't one to judge a book by its cover. Never had been. He was looking forward to getting to know his new coworker. This place was like a second family, after all, and Philip Blake was the newest addition. Dale would crack through that off-putting outer shell. Eventually._

_Very suddenly, Beth felt a strong, unseen force shoving her backwards. She stumbled and nearly tripped over her own feet, regaining her balance inside the elevator. Then she watched with wide eyes as the past interior of the insurance company began to fade away, and the shiny metal doors closed before her._

_Elevator music filled her ears once more and she looked over to the panel of buttons. The third button in the first row was blinking—like it was telling her to push it next—and she quickly reached over to press it with two fingers. The floor shifted beneath her feet. The elevator ascended to the next floor while the glowing sign above the doors switched from 'AD1985D1' to 'AD1985D2.'_

_Beth's heart pounded in her chest, slower than usual yet insistent all the same. She took a deep breath and forced herself to focus. The elevator was coming to a halt. A __**ding!**__ rang out around her. The music paused._

_The doors slid open and she didn't hesitate this time. She took a step forward and watched shadowy shapes and silhouettes form. She heard Dale's distant inner voice at the edge of her skull, though she couldn't discern his words, and took another step forward until she'd crossed the threshold. She only stopped once the scene began to take form before her eyes._

_It was the insurance company again, but the Easter decorations were gone—replaced with paper snowflakes and Christmas trees. Late evening sunlight was leaking in through the plate-glass windows at the front of the room, and all the desks were empty. Except for one: Dale's._

_He was sitting behind it, hunched over the desk's surface and speaking in hushed tones to a woman who sat in the chair across from him. He looked the same as the previous memory, but Beth didn't recognize the woman. She had dark red hair and looked to be in her thirties or forties, wearing a long blue dress, her ankles crossed tensely, clutching a red leather purse in her lap and gazing at Dale with pitiful, wide eyes. A thick black coat hung on the back of her chair. An array of paperwork was sprawled out between them on the desk._

"_Now listen, I understand yer plight, okay?" Dale said, his voice low and coaxing. "And I can help, but this will have to… stay between us. And there's a few small things you'll have to do in order for it to work. Ya understand?"_

_The red-haired woman nodded, blinking away pooling tears. She smiled weakly and leaned forward in her seat. "Of course, Mr. Horvath. You have no idea what this means—we'll do whatever it takes. I just can't lose that house. And the medical bills are pilin' up so damn high. I'm afraid we won't even be able to __**eat**__ once this is all said an' done, let alone have a proper funeral for Chuck."_

"_I know," Dale said. "That's why I'm doin' this. It could mean my job, but I… well, I just can't sit by an' watch y'all struggle knowin' I coulda done something. That's not right. Your daddy's known my daddy since they were kids, that house belongs to you an' yours. Not the bank."_

_The woman blinked away fresh tears and sniffled, her smile widening. "I'm so relieved to have you on our side. My daddy always said you were a good man."_

"_If I could do more, Barbara, you know I would…" _

"_Nobody can fix my husband, not even the specialists," Barbara assured, her spine stiffening. "And if it's God's will that this cancer takes his life, then so be it. But I can't bear the idea of Otis sufferin' because of his daddy's disease…"_

_Dale nodded. "Of course. I completely understand. And you know I agree. Otis is a good boy. He's got a bright future ahead of him."_

_Barbara relaxed a bit and sighed softly. "I wouldn't wanna put your career at risk though, Dale. Not fer us. You an' Irma have worked so hard to get where you are—"_

_He put up a hand to stop her and interrupted, "Don't think twice about it. I know the risks I'm takin'. And I have backup plans. But like I said, it's gonna rely on y'all just as much as it'll rely on me. I need ya to work with me here, Barb." He raised his bushy black eyebrows at her._

_She nodded. "Anything. You name it. How d'we make this work?"_

"_Well, I fudged the numbers a bit, and as long as you can make the payments over the next six months—"_

"_Six __**months**__?" Barbara huffed. "He don't even got six __**weeks**__, Dale. You know what the doctors said…"_

_Dale sighed sadly and glanced away from her eyes for a brief moment. "Yes, I'm aware. But that's part of it, too. No agent in their right mind would allow a new plan with a pre-existing condition like this. With such a bleak diagnosis. Shred your copies of the medical documents, if you have to. I'm certainly gonna be 'misplacing' the copies you sent to me." He gave her a pointed look and lowered his voice. "Ya understand?"_

_Barbara worried her lower lip, but then she nodded. "Right. I understand."_

"_And," Dale went on. "You'll have to compensate for the income we listed. Destroy the last three months' worth of paystubs, lose yer tax return documents, and have Otis pick up a part-time job. Full-time, if he can manage it. If not, you may need to pick up a second job. At least long enough to get a couple paystubs."_

"_A job where?" She asked. "I've been lookin' fer ages, nobody in town is hiring. And I can't afford to drive back and forth to Fayetteville or Peachtree or Atlanta."_

"_You know Hershel Greene?"_

"_Didn't he just move back after his daddy died?"_

_Beth gasped silently. No __**freaking**__ way… _

"_Yeah, he did," Dale confirmed. "And his daddy left him the Greene Farm. Every last acre. He needs farmhands—strong, reliable young men. Otis would be perfect, and it wouldn't interfere with his schoolwork. That farm's been thrivin' fer years, so I know Hershel will be payin' decent wages. He won't be risking any under-the-table nonsense either. Should be more than enough to cover the required income. And the paperwork we need."_

"_Okay," Barbara agreed somewhat hesitantly. "We can do that. I'll drive down there in the mornin' an' talk to him. I'll bring Otis along so they can meet."_

_Beth couldn't help but feel baffled. She'd known Otis had worked for her dad for a good portion of his life, but she hadn't realized __**this**__ was how it had come together. Otis had never mentioned a word about how exactly his dad passed away, but now that she thought about it, he had seemed particularly torn up over Annette's death. Beth had always attributed it to the fact that he was a long-time family friend._

_She'd never imagined this scenario, let alone the fact that Dale was the one to make it happen in the first place._

_Fucking small towns._

_Dale smiled across the desk at Barbara. "That's a good idea." Then he cleared his throat and leaned back, shuffling through the papers before him and pulling out a single crisp sheet. "Here—sign this and I won't file it until next week, but I'll make sure it goes into effect within the month. That should be plenty of time fer Otis to start bringin' in income. I'll work around the rest of the technicalities."_

_A crease formed in Barbara's forehead and she frowned. "What if…"_

_Her voice trailed off, but Dale already knew what she was asking. He gave her a reassuring look and said, "Chuck will hold on as long as possible. We don't—"_

_But he stopped at the sudden sound of the front door opening. He and Barbara both looked up and slightly craned their necks to see past the partitions around the desk. Beth looked over, as well._

_And for some reason, she wasn't shocked to see Philip Blake entering the office. _

_She watched Dale tense up and stand from his desk, stepping sideways and discreetly motioning for Barbara to remain where she was. He put on an overly cheery smile and greeted, "Phil! Ya forget somethin'?"_

_Philip was sneering, but it morphed into a curious smirk as he met Dale's gaze and strode across the room towards his desk. "Yes," he replied stoically. "And I __**told**__ you, I don't like bein' called that." _

"_Sorry—Philip," Dale corrected himself, still smiling and hoping to appear as nonchalant as possible. He could already tell it wasn't working, though._

_Philip stopped beside his desk and looked over, observing the scene of the paperwork on Dale's desk and the sad woman sitting in the client's chair. His jade eyes filled with suspicion and it was obvious that he was putting two-and-two together inside his head. He'd already seen Barbara visiting and discussing insurance plans with Dale during business hours over the last few months—ever since Chuck's diagnosis. And Dale was almost certain that Philip had overheard more than enough of his apologetic rejections to know what was really going on here._

_But maybe he could trust him? Sure, Philip hadn't spoken much to him, and Dale still knew nothing about him, not even where he was from. But surely Philip was a reasonable guy. Surely there was a way to appeal to his more empathetic side and persuade him to keep his suspicions to himself. Out of the goodness of his heart, maybe?_

_As if he could read the uncertainty on Dale's face, Philip said, "Don't worry. Your little secret's safe with me." His smirk curled into a half-smile and he added quietly, "It's just business, right?"_

_He winked and a shiver ran down Dale's spine._

_Regardless, he returned the younger man's smile and nodded. "Right. Thank you for understanding."_

"_Mm-hmm," Philip hummed in response. Then he turned away, pulling open a drawer in his desk and proceeding to dig through it._

_Dale hesitated awkwardly before adding, "Uh, I appreciate yer discretion."_

_Philip found whatever he was looking for and pocketed it, slamming the drawer shut and turning to face Dale. He towered over the older man by a few inches and Dale found himself looking up to meet his gaze._

_Philip smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Of course. Anything for a coworker."_

_At that, he turned and strode towards the front door. Back at Dale's desk, Barbara was standing and slipping on her coat, buttoning it up and preparing to leave. Her face was pale and her lower lip was trembling._

_The front door opened and Philip exited the building, and Beth could feel the cold winter breeze that rushed in after him as the door swung shut. She watched Dale approach Barbara, stepping close and reaching out to gently grasp her wrist._

_Barbara spoke before he could, the panic rising in her voice, "Dale, if that man is gonna say somethin', maybe we should forget the whole thing. I can figure out somethin' else—we have an uncle in Florida, maybe we could stay with him after the house gets foreclosed. Till I pay off some'a the bills an' get us back on our feet."_

_Dale argued back, "Barb, no. Don't think twice about it. I'll handle this, alrigh? Philip is my coworker. He's a reasonable man. I'll talk to him. He didn't actually __**hear**__ anything. You jus' worry about Otis an' that second income. Leave the rest to me."_

_She nodded, her face full of trepidation._

_But before Otis's mother could respond, Beth was being shoved back again._

_Luckily, she was more prepared this time, so she didn't stumble over her own feet. But she couldn't stop the unseen force pushing her back into the elevator, nor could she prevent the shiny metal doors from sliding shut again. _

_Just like last time, the elevator music started up again, and Beth looked over to see the first button in the second row blinking. She eagerly pressed it._

_The elevator shifted around her and ascended. The display above the doors switched from 'AD1985D2' to 'AD1985D3.' And she waited patiently for a few long seconds, listening to the comforting sound of her own slowly beating heart, trying to tune out the weirdly out-of-place classical music playing around her._

'_Philip Blake, Philip Blake,' she chanted wordlessly. 'Show me more about him. Show me who he really is.'_

_The aching inside her chest was growing stronger. The more she learned, the more it hurt. Who could've guessed that looking into people's pasts would be so dark and dreary?_

_Merle, probably. Not that she would've listened to him anyway. This was all necessary information. She didn't quite know how yet, but she knew it was. She could __**feel**__ it._

_Every little puzzle piece fit in somewhere. Even if it hurt like hell to shove them into place._

_The music paused. The elevator halted and a loud __**ding! **__rang out. The doors opened and Beth took a step forward without so much as a second thought. Shapes began to form, and the distant but muffled inner voice from Dale's conscience urged her on. She crossed the threshold._

_This wasn't the insurance company again. Instead, it was the inside of a small diner. The interior layout seemed familiar, but the furniture and decor were nothing she'd ever seen before. She was standing next to a booth right by the front door, which was occupied by Dale and Philip, sitting opposite of each other. To her right was a counter with a few barstools and a waitress working behind it. To her left were a half-dozen more booths, but only a couple of them were occupied by other customers. _

_Wait—she recognized this place. It was the coffee shop next door to the insurance place. It must've been a diner back in the day._

_Familiar sights were difficult to point out when there was a crackly, yellowish film plastered over her eyeballs. Especially when they were things that had existed and disappeared and been replaced, all before she was ever born._

_But she was focused on Dale, and how he sat stiffly in the booth and gazed across the table at Philip. They each had cups before them—Dale's was a mug of coffee while Philip's was a tall glass of iced tea—and Dale was smiling politely, hands in his lap. Philip wasn't smiling, and his blue-green eyes were flicking back and forth between the cup in his hand and the fake smile on his colleague's face. They seemed to have been sitting down long enough to be served their drinks and have their orders taken, and Beth could tell from Philip's guarded expression that this was the first time they'd ever shared a meal, let alone spent time together one-on-one outside of work._

_They both looked about the same as they had in the previous memory, and there were a few Christmas decorations throughout the diner. Beth took note of these details and paid close attention._

"_Ya know," Dale said. "Sanctuary is like a second family. A lot of us take pride in knowin' our coworkers, having good relationships. And you an' I have been neighbors fer months now, but I still don't know a thing about ya." He offered a friendly smile. "I'd like to change that."_

_Philip's expression didn't change, his mouth set in a thin line as he looked back at Dale, rather unimpressed. "I already had a family. Why would I need a second one?"_

_Dale blinked and his smile wavered. "__**Had**__?"_

_Philip simply nodded._

"_Well, I wouldn't wanna push nothin' on ya, Philip," Dale assured. "I was just sayin'."_

_Philip shrugged. "No one's shown any interest in gettin' to know me." He quirked a brow. "Not even you. Not really." He lifted his glass and took a sip of tea, his eyes never leaving Dale's._

"_I apologize for that. Genuinely." Dale shifted uncomfortably in his seat and pulled his coffee mug closer, cupping it between his hands. "I never meant to come across as ambivalent. Just seemed like you preferred to be left alone."_

"_I usually do," Philip said. "If this is about the Barbara Bumgardner plan, you don't need to sweeten me up." He waved a hand passively towards the table between them. "Buying me lunch and tryin' to be friendly—it's not necessary. I haven't spoken a word to anybody."_

_Dale chuckled awkwardly. "That's not—"_

_But Philip cut him off, "Why would I rat you out? There's nothin' in it for me." _

_Dale furrowed his brow and huffed out a soft sigh. Then he shrugged with tense shoulders. "I didn't assume there was. Nor did I assume you'd throw me under the bus. For any reason."_

"_That's awfully kind of you," Philip drawled, and Dale couldn't tell if it was genuine or sarcastic, or something in-between._

"_Well," Dale said. "I may not know ya, but I can tell yer a trustworthy fella."_

_Philip smirked and made a grunt of amusement. "Oh, you can, huh?"_

_Well, that admittedly made Dale second-guess his assumption. But he doubled down anyway. "Of course. I've always been a good judge of character." He smiled and paused to take a sip of coffee. When he lowered his mug, he said, "So let's get to know each other, Philip. No reason ya gotta be all alone in this world. It's a small town, yer bound to make a friend or two. May as well be me." He finished with what he hoped was his most convincingly friendly grin._

_Philip shrugged indifferently, though his emerald eyes were set on Dale with intent. "Yeah, small towns. May as well plant some roots. I reckon yer as trustworthy of a fella as they come, huh?"_

_Dale chuckled nervously. "I reckon." He cleared his throat and asked, "So where ya from? Somewhere around here?"_

_Philip glanced away briefly, wrapping his hand around his condensated glass. Then he replied, "I transferred here from the insurance company in Peachtree City."_

"_Oh," Dale perked up. "Is that where ya grew up?"_

"_No," Philip said. "I was born and raised in Woodbury. Even smaller town than this."_

"_I've been to Woodbury," Dale grinned. "Nice place. Definitely smaller than Senoia. Seems peaceful, though. Ya got parents there? Siblings? Maybe a grandparent or somethin'?"_

_Philip exhaled through flared nostrils and looked down at his tea glass. "Not anymore."_

_Dale's grin disappeared. "Oh." And even though his more logical side was telling him not to ask, he did anyway: "What happened? If ya don't mind me asking…"_

_The other man didn't seem to so much as flinch at the question. His eyes flicked up and met Dale's, void of emotion, and he answered, "Parents died when I was young. Their parents died before I came along. Older brother joined the military, did a couple tours, blew his brains out after he got home. It's just me now."_

"_Jesus," Dale whispered, unable to stop himself. He quickly apologized, "Sorry, I just—that's awful. I'm very sorry to hear it, Philip."_

_Philip merely shrugged, his expression unchanged. "You asked."_

_Dale thought that was an odd response, but he reminded himself that everyone processes grief in their own way. This wasn't the first person he'd ever encountered who seemed blank-faced and emotionally unavailable when it came to discussing their dead loved ones._

_And maybe that explained it, he silently mused. Maybe Philip had been alone for so long now, he simply didn't know any other way to be. Maybe he just needed someone to step in and say, hey I'm here for you and you don't always have to be alone._

_Then again, Philip didn't really seem like the type of person you'd want to try and force a friendship on. So Dale figured he'd better tread lightly._

_A moment later, the waitress arrived with their lunch and set the meals down between them, returning to refill Dale's coffee and Philip's tea before walking off to tend to other customers. The two men began digging into their food wordlessly._

_Dale was nearly finished with his side of coleslaw when Philip spoke up. "So tell me about yourself, Dale."_

_Dale looked up and met Philip's gaze, a bit surprised. He finished the bite in his mouth and dabbed at his lips with a napkin before responding cheerily, "Well, I live with my wife in a nice little house. My parents passed away when I was a young man, as well. Not until I was in college, but—"_

"_No, not that," Philip interrupted, stuffing a piece of rare steak into his mouth and speaking while he chewed. "Everyone in the office knows your small town story."_

_Dale furrowed his brow, confused. "Then what d'you mean, Philip?"_

_The other man swallowed his bite and took a swig of iced tea. "I mean, tell me about yourself; why you do the things you do. What brought you to workin' for this company, what you plan on gettin' out of it." He paused and lowered his voice to add, "Why you feel the need to risk your own livelihood to help some poor woman with a terminally ill husband."_

_Dale frowned and stared back at Philip, trying to read his face, trying to figure out what he could possibly be thinking. Maybe he was just the kind of guy who didn't care for small talk and wanted to get straight to the point._

"_Well… to be honest with you?" He started, his fork gripped in his hand. _

_Philip cut another piece of his steak off with his knife and fork. He didn't even glance up when he said, "I'm certainly not askin' you to __**lie**__ to me. Or sugarcoat anything."_

"_Alright," Dale shrugged. "I can't say I got into this job to explicitly __**'get**__ anything.' I met my wife in college, she wanted to stay close to her family, so I took the first decent-paying job with benefits that I could find. The benefits were the most __**important**__ part—" he raised his eyebrows, watching as Philip met his gaze with intrigue "—because her aunt was already gettin' sick, and we knew she'd need our help. Not to mention, we wanna start a family of our own, but the fertility treatments are expensive. I needed something with insurance that would cover those costs. And we have a retirement plan, so I gotta make sure I have enough saved for that. I've been takin' some teaching jobs on the side when I can. And Irma…" He paused and sighed. "She never had any kinda stability in her life. Her family always struggled with money. So I wanted to make sure I could give her somethin' more stress-free. It's the least she deserves. If I could give that woman the world…"_

_Philip was smirking like he was hearing some kind of juicy gossip. He finished chewing the bite in his mouth and chased it down with iced tea before muttering, "How sweet." It sounded weirdly sarcastic, but Dale chose not to interpret it that way. "But that still doesn't explain why you'd risk all that for Mrs. Bumgardner. I overheard you two discussing her husband's diagnosis last week—you must've had to pull some sneaky tricks to ensure she an' her boy get paid once dear old dad croaks. What's he got, six weeks at best?"_

_Dale's face fell and he looked down at his meal, though his appetite had suddenly disappeared. He set his fork down and took a sip of coffee. He could feel Philip staring across the table at him, waiting for an explanation._

_Why did he feel like he was about to be blackmailed?_

"_I wouldn't call 'em sneaky __**tricks**__," he said quietly, slowly raising his eyes to meet the other man's. "Just… pulled some strings to ensure they wouldn't be left penniless."_

"_Right," Philip nodded. "And have you ever done that before? Pulled some __**strings**__ for somebody you thought was in need, I mean?"_

"_Of course not," Dale lied._

_Philip studied Dale's face, but he seemed to believe him._

_So Dale added, "If I wasn't positive that they deserved it—that they truly __**needed**__ it—I would never think of doin' such a thing."_

"'_Cause you __**know**__ them," Philip said. "Right? I mean, you both grew up here, your parents grew up here…"_

_Dale nodded rigidly. "That's right. And that's how I know they need it."_

_Philip narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. "But you could get fired if anyone figured it out. You could get __**prosecuted**__."_

"_I'm well aware," Dale said, hoping his face hadn't gone quite as pale as it felt._

_Philip simply shrugged. "So… why? Why do it?"_

"_Because," Dale said with the utmost confidence. "It's the right thing to do. The Bumgardners shouldn't be left homeless, and Barb's boy shouldn't be pulled away from all his friends and the only place he's ever known, just because some company wants to make a few more thousand dollars. The system is all messed up, and I can't do a damn thing to fix it, but this is somethin' I __**can**__ do… Quite frankly, I'm not sure I could sleep at night knowin' I turned those poor folks away when they needed help the most."_

"_Hm," Philip hummed softly, taking in the words and ruminating on them. Then he smiled and said, "You're a fascinating man, Dale Horvath."_

_Dale gazed back at Philip curiously, watching him finish off the last of his steak and chase it with a long drink of iced tea._

_Maybe this wasn't blackmail, after all. Maybe he was just genuinely curious. Maybe… he was looking for someone to help guide him. No parents, no brother. How long had he been without a father figure? And he must feel so lost, living in a new town where he doesn't know anyone, no family to call or see on the weekends._

_Could Dale step in and try to offer him some kind of moral compass? Some kind of encouragement? Some kind of hopeful outlook in his lonely little world?_

"_So are you, Philip," he finally said. _

_Philip's blue-green eyes flicked up to meet Dale's and he smiled. "__**Me**__?" He shook his head. "Oh, no. I'm just another average Joe. Not much to show for myself… Maybe someday, though."_

"_I disagree," Dale insisted, smiling warmly. "I think you're a bright young man. You've got your whole life ahead of you. You'll most definitely have somethin' to show for yourself one day."_

_And that was the truth. From what Dale had observed over the last several months, Philip was polite. He was seemingly good-intentioned. He was handsome, and he could even be quite charming when he wanted to be. He didn't seem to suffer from any self-esteem issues. He was good with clients but quiet with colleagues, always did his work, kept to himself, never said or did anything to offend anyone. He was sharp as a tack, too. If he worked at it, Dale believed this kid could really make a good life for himself._

_Philip shrugged. "We'll see."_

_Beth was shoved backwards by the unseen force once again. Before the scene of the diner could fully fade away, she was regaining her balance inside the elevator and watching the metal doors slide shut. The classical music started up again ever so casually._

_She looked over and saw the second button in the second row blinking expectantly, so she reached out and pressed it. The elevator shifted beneath her feet and glided up, taking her to the next floor. The glowing sign changed from 'AD1985D3' to 'AD1986D1.'_

_**Ding!**_

_The music stopped. The doors slid open. Beth stepped forward and crossed the threshold without so much as a second of hesitation. Her feet were light as air. She could already hear Dale's inner thoughts echoing within her own head._

_It was the inside of the insurance office again. The Christmas decorations were gone, replaced with bright red and pink hearts and Cupid cut-outs for Valentine's Day. About a dozen employees were buzzing around, some sitting at their desks, some on the phone, some meandering to the fax machine or the water cooler._

_Dale was sitting at his desk, pen in hand and a pile of paperwork laid out before him. But his eyes were on the man at the desk across the aisle._

_Every single day at 3 pm, like clockwork, Philip would discreetly pull something out of the top drawer of his desk and tuck it into his pocket before heading to the bathroom. Dale probably wouldn't have noticed, but he'd been observing Philip a lot more since they'd started getting to know each other. They were having lunch together once or twice a week, and though Philip still hadn't revealed much about himself, Dale was always looking for new topics of conversation. New bits of information that might explain his coworker's off-putting tendencies._

_It wasn't like he didn't __**trust**__ him. Philip hadn't so much as brought up the topic of the Bumgardners' insurance policy since that first lunch they'd shared. He seemed to have forgotten about it entirely._

_Dale didn't mean to be nosey or anything. But he couldn't stop himself. Philip had some… curious habits. Things you probably wouldn't notice unless you spent five days a week working ten feet away from him._

_But Dale told himself he was just looking out for Philip. Obviously he didn't have anyone else to look out for him. Right?_

_He was pretending to read the paperwork in front of him, but he was actually glancing from the clock hanging on the wall to Philip sitting at his desk. And the second it hit 2:59, he watched Philip open his top desk drawer, reach in, pull something out, and discreetly shove it into his pocket. Then he stood up and headed off to the door labeled 'Restrooms.'_

_Dale hesitated, watching as the younger man strode across the room and disappeared behind the door. A second later, he dropped his pen and stood up, walking quickly towards the restroom door._

_Beth followed close at his heels, watching and listening intently; a silent ghost traipsing through a memory stuck in time._

_The office restroom was unisex, with three stalls across from two sinks that sat underneath one large mirror. Dale pushed the door open and stepped inside, and he was immediately met with the sight of Philip standing at the sinks, carefully plucking pills from a small plastic container that was set out on the countertop._

_He recognized the container right away: it was the same kind Irma had been using for her fertility drugs and prenatal vitamins, with little compartments labeled Sunday through Saturday that designated which pills should be taken on each day of the week. His mother-in-law had been using one, too—though for a vastly different reason._

_That was worrying. Was Philip sick? Was he hiding some kind of debilitating illness or disorder?_

_He clearly hadn't expected to have company, seeing as he always seemed to slip in and out before anyone needed to use the stalls. He quickly stepped aside, as if to block his pill container from sight, and looked at Dale with surprise._

"_Sorry, just had to use the toilet," Dale apologized, making a beeline to the closest stall._

_But Philip knew he'd already seen. He'd probably caught the look of recognition on Dale's face, too._

_Admittedly, Dale had never been much good at masking his emotions._

"_You follow me in here, Dale?" Philip asked, his back to the countertop as he continued using his body to hide the pill container._

"_Why would I do that?" Dale chuckled, feigning ignorance and pausing with his hand on the stall door._

"_You tell me," Philip said. _

_Dale shook his head. "Nothin' like that, Philip. Just so happens I had a full bladder—all the coffee, I reckon." He smiled, attempting to ease the tension, but Philip didn't smile back. So he grew more solemn and said, "Nothin' to be ashamed of anyhow, ya know. It's no one's business but yer own."_

_Philip gave a clipped nod. "I agree." _

_He probably should have left it at that and pretended he'd seen nothing at all, but Dale couldn't help himself. The concern was audible in his tone as he asked, "Are you alright? You're not… __**sick**__, are ya?"_

_Philip narrowed his eyes. They flashed from blue-green to a deep emerald. Or maybe it was just the lighting inside the restroom._

"_Just a little tapeworm," he said. He put on a tight-lipped smile._

_Dale doubted that was the truth; a tapeworm that he'd been treating for well over a month now? And why would he need so many pills designated for every single day? Maybe it was actually antidepressants. _

_Of course. That must be it. The poor kid had lost his whole family and he was barely 25. And most people weren't very understanding when it came to finding out that someone was "clinically depressed," let alone that they were being medicated for it. No wonder he'd feel the need to hide it._

"_Well it's nothin' to be ashamed of," Dale said, giving Philip a very serious look. "Maybe __**some**__ people wouldn't understand, but ya won't hear any judgment from me. Like I said, ain't nobody's business but yours."_

_Philip didn't appear very pleased, but he kept smiling nonetheless. "That's right," he agreed quietly._

_He seemed to be waiting for Dale to turn away, so Dale took the cue and did such. He retreated inside the stall and shut the door. Though he could hear Philip hurriedly clicking the pill container closed and shoving it into his pocket._

_He could only hope he hadn't screwed anything up. Philip had just been starting to let him in._

**to be continued…**

* * *

**A/N:** Hey! This fic is being turned into a podfic now :) If you're interested in listening to chapter 1, check out this fic's posting on AO3 for the link!  
Thank you for reading!


	54. One Man's White Trash is Another Man's

**One Man's White Trash is Another Man's…**

_Beth was shoved back into the elevator._

_The music. The blinking button. The shifting floor. The glowing display that changed from 'AD1986D1' to 'AD1986D2.'_

_Then the __**ding! **__followed by the silence. Dale's distant inner thoughts urging her forward. The doors slid open. She stepped out._

_The crackly, yellowish haze remained. She was in the diner again. Dale and Philip were in the same booth as before, sitting across from each other, sharing lunch. But their outfits were different. And there were St. Patrick's Day-themed decorations and advertisements scattered throughout the small diner._

_The waitress was making her rounds, stopping at their booth to refill Dale's coffee and Philip's iced tea. Then she was off to the next table._

_Philip took a swig of fresh tea and paused with his fork and knife crossed over the steak before him. He looked at Dale with narrowed eyes and asked, "So who do you trust in the office, Dale?"_

_Dale looked back at him, a bit perplexed. "Everyone, I suppose. Why'd ya ask?"_

_Philip shrugged. "Just curious. Everyone, really?" He frowned. "Surely not __**everyone**__."_

_Dale chuckled. "Well why not? I've gotten to know 'em all pretty well over the last couple years. Never gave me a reason not to trust 'em. They're like a second family to me." _

_Philip stabbed a single green bean with his fork and popped it into his mouth. "You always say that—like a second family. Would you really trust all those people with your __**life**__?"_

_Dale paused and took a sip of coffee. He gazed back at Philip, a bit confused. "With my __**life**__? That's awfully serious. I would hope it'd never come to somethin' like that."_

_Philip raised his eyebrows as though the older man had just proven his point. "So you __**don't**__ trust them. Not really."_

"_Does trust always have to be a life or death situation?" Dale mused._

_Philip shrugged. "What's the point otherwise?"_

_Dale furrowed his brow. "There's a lotta different kinds of trust, Philip. Just like there's different kinds of love. Not every relationship has to be built on the notion of whether someone would throw you under the bus for their own gain, or whether they'd sacrifice their own life to save yours." He set his coffee cup down gently. "You understand that—right?"_

_Philip laughed and sliced into his steak with the knife in his hand. "Of course I do. Just pokin' yer brain."_

_For some reason, Dale didn't take much comfort in that statement._

_The scene flickered and shifted. And though the two men's outfits changed, the diner remained mostly the same, as did the meals set out between them._

_A different day. The same week._

_Philip appeared discontent. He wasn't digging into his rare T-Bone with the same vigor as usual._

_Dale spoke up. "Something botherin' ya today, Philip?"_

_Philip grunted, gazing down at his food thoughtfully. "Not lookin' forward to leaving work early for another damn doctor's appointment."_

"_Oh," Dale said. "Everythin' alright?"_

"_Yeah," Philip muttered, keeping his eyes cast downward. "Just these relentless parasites. Stupid doctor won't listen to me, keeps prescribin' shit that doesn't help. Think I'm gonna give him a piece of my mind today."_

_Dale opened his mouth, prepared to voice his concern—Parasites? More meds? How had a little tapeworm been going on for this long and causing so many problems?—but Philip lifted his head and gave a nonchalant shrug, cutting him off._

"_You know how it is," he said casually. "Damn doctors wanna charge an arm and a leg just to tell us it's all in our heads and shove more pills down our throats. We're no more'an a paycheck to them. Nothin' new."_

_That was enough for Dale to keep his comments and questions to himself. He merely nodded and pretended to agree._

"_Right," he muttered half-heartedly. "Those doctors never wanna listen, do they?"_

_The scene flickered again. Their clothes and meals changed, and the St. Patrick's Day decorations disappeared._

_Another day in another week. Another lunch between Dale and Philip._

_This time, Philip didn't look so down. In fact, he looked alight with determination. Or maybe it was anger. It was hard to tell with him._

_He was focused on Dale, though Dale was preoccupied with the BLT in his hands._

"_Don't you ever get tired of the small town life, Dale?" Philip asked._

_Dale smiled. "Can't say I do. I reckon me an' Irma are a simple kinda folk. Doesn't take much to keep us satisfied. Never has."_

_Philip narrowed his eyes almost suspiciously. "But why?"_

"_I'm not sure," Dale replied honestly, setting his sandwich down and wiping a splotch of mayonnaise from his chin. "We've just learned to be happy with what we have. It's all about appreciatin' the little things, I suppose."_

"_Hm," Philip pondered with a frown. "So you always planned on stayin' here for the rest of your life? Or did you stay because your wife wanted to?"_

_Dale didn't flinch at this question. It wasn't even close to the first time someone had asked him that, and he always had the same answer. "I like Senoia just fine. Thought about other places—maybe Texas or Northern California. But to be honest, I'd be happy anywhere, so long as I got Irma by my side." He beamed proudly._

_Philip didn't seem very pleased with this response. He sighed and went back to his food, shaking his head. "Guess I just don't get it."_

"_Which part?" Dale asked._

"_All of it," the other man admitted. "I've always felt stuck in these small towns. From one to the next. But I've never been able to afford to move anywhere else. Then I see all these folks who get stuck here forever; trapped in mediocre lives, workin' a job they hate and livin' in a house they're sick of paying for. Never able to get out or move up in the world."_

_Dale frowned. "And ya don't want that to be you?" He guessed._

"'_Course I don't," Philip said._

_Who have you been talking to that's so damn miserable? Dale wanted to ask. But he didn't._

"_Ya know, as a kid, I used to dream about…" Philip paused and met Dale's eyes warily, as though he were iffy about letting himself get reminiscent. Then he went on, "New York City. Or Los Angeles. When I got a little older, I imagined havin' a high-paying job, so much money I wouldn't know what to do with it all. I dreamt about havin' one of those fancy penthouse suites all to myself. Somethin' with a great view of the city, quiet neighbors… A place where there's so many people that everybody's practically anonymous."_

_Dale calculated his words carefully before speaking. He wanted to ask, and what about the part where you're all alone in that big city, spending all that money on yourself?_

_But maybe that's what Philip wanted. Some people didn't want a partner, not even a companion. They just wanted fancy cars and big houses and piles of brand new clothing. The freedom to do anything they damn well pleased, whenever they pleased to do it, without being forced to make human connections. Maybe Philip was one of those people._

"_Big place like that sounds like a good opportunity to meet a lotta beautiful women," Dale said, chuckling light-heartedly. _

_But despite the teasing tone in his voice, Philip's shoulders stiffened and he sawed through the last of his steak a little harder than was necessary. "Women are nothin' but a waste of money and energy," he grumbled. "Just a way to pass the time here an' there."_

_Oh. Dale bristled and took a bite of his sandwich to avoid responding._

_He hadn't realized Philip was one of __**those**__ guys. He probably should've figured it out by now, but he still hadn't decided whether Philip was just very private about his dating life, too shy to realize he was an attractive young man, or secretly gay. Not that it mattered to Dale either way. Sometimes he thought having a good woman—or man—in Philip's life might cheer him up a bit, or give him some hope that he severely lacked._

_But now he was starting to think maybe that wasn't what Philip needed at all. If anything, Philip needed a purpose to fill that big gaping void inside his soul._

_Would he ever find it here in Senoia? Or while working at Sanctuary Insurance? Or would he just be left endlessly chasing pipe dreams and getting disappointed, like so many men Dale had seen who became infatuated with that glitz and glamor Wall Street sort of life?_

_Big cities and lots of money and a fancy place all to yourself. Yeah, that was the dream for a lot of small town folks. Didn't mean it was within reach for most of them, though. Such was the cycle of poverty that permeated places like Senoia. Sometimes, life just didn't work out that way. Sometimes, you had to settle for what you had and try to make the best of it._

_But something deep down told Dale that Philip wasn't the kind of guy who would ever take 'no' for an answer. And he wasn't sure if that was a good thing, or a really ominous trait within an already disconnected man._

_The scene flickered. The two men's outfits changed, their hair and facial expressions slightly different, and Easter decorations popped up around the diner. The food before them switched, though Philip always had his tall glass of iced tea and Dale always had his mug of warm coffee._

_A different day. Only a week or two later._

_Philip seemed to have something on his mind. He was frowning heavily, fork clutched loosely between his fingers as he pushed his half-eaten salad around on the plate in front of him. Dale was happily munching on his burger and popping french fries into his mouth, but he'd noticed the other man's demeanor throughout the day. He'd been intending on trying a new approach once they were alone and had some good food in their bellies._

"_So," Dale started, smiling warmly across the table as Philip met his gaze. "Ya know, we've had lunch together quite a few times now. How would ya like to come over tonight an' have dinner with Irma and I? She makes one helluva lasagna."_

_Philip looked back with a blank expression. He shrugged. "No thanks. I've got plans."_

"_Oh," Dale's face fell, though he quickly covered it with another smile. "I understand. Maybe another night? Next week?"_

_Philip shrugged again and went back to pushing his salad around. "Maybe."_

_There was a beat of awkward silence. Dale cleared his throat and took a sip of coffee._

_Then he asked, "Got a date or somethin'?" He chuckled, hoping it would come off as teasing rather than invasive._

_Philip sneered. "Definitely not. Just goin' down to the bar." He quirked a brow and added, "I've been makin' __**friends**__. Like you suggested." _

_Friends? This was the first Dale was hearing of such a thing. "Is that so? Well, it's good to hear. Which bar ya been frequenting?" There were only two in town, and Dale knew that one was decent, while the other was… well, unsavory. To say the least._

_Philip hmphed. "The Dirty Penny. If that matters."_

_Damn. That was the least favorable answer. But Dale wasn't trying to pass judgment, so he simply smiled and said, "Ah, __**that**__ place. Yeah, you'll meet some interesting folks in there, that's for sure." He huffed out a breath of amusement and took another sip of coffee._

_Philip was either ignoring him or unaware of the subtext in his tone, because he shoved a bite of salad into his mouth and chewed half-heartedly before setting his fork down and pushing the plate away. He chased the bite with a swig of iced tea, then he sighed._

"_How long have you known Frank?" He asked._

_Dale wiped his mouth with a napkin and finished the bite he'd taken before he answered. "Our boss?"_

_Philip nodded, eyebrows raised expectantly._

"_Well," Dale said. "A few years. Only in passing, though. Till he hired me, of course. He's a good guy and a good manager. Why d'ya ask?"_

_Philip's hands were clenching into fists atop the table's surface. He shook his head, jaw stiff. "Seems like the guy's got a vendetta against me. Like he doesn't want me here."_

_Dale furrowed his brow in confusion. "I'm sure that's not the case. What makes ya say that?"_

_Philip scoffed. "He won't give me a damn chance." He paused and narrowed his eyes, shooting Dale a suspicious glare. "You didn't tell him that I'm __**medicated**__, did you?"_

"_Of course not," Dale assured. "That's none of his business, Philip. I wouldn't go tellin' people somethin' like that."_

_The younger man seemed to relax just the slightest at that. He nodded. "I trust you, Dale. I just had to ask."_

"_I appreciate it, but I still don't see why you'd think Frank would have any kinda problem with ya," Dale said. "Has he been givin' ya slack or somethin'?"_

_Philip sighed, glancing away. "Just keeps turning me down on new clients."_

"_Well, I'm sure he's got his reasons," Dale said. "You know how that red tape can be." He didn't think he had to specify; they both knew what kind of (less than legal) hoops the Bumgardners' had to jump through just to ensure they wouldn't lose their family home._

_Philip grumbled unhappily, "That doesn't explain why he won't even consider me for a promotion."_

_Dale had to stop himself from barking out a laugh and remember that Philip was still young and full of big ambitions. He explained gently, "How long ya been here now? Barely a year? Give it time, Philip. Promotions don't happen just like that in this business, especially in a town like ours. Ya gotta get some seniority under your belt first."_

_No matter how hard Dale tried though, everything he said seemed to aggravate Philip a little more. It simply wasn't what he wanted to hear._

_He scowled and said, "How __**much**__ seniority? Do I gotta commit my whole goddamn life to this shithole company before I see a salary past five figures?"_

_Dale blinked, a bit taken aback. "Past five figures? How much d'you think Frank __**makes**__? How much d'you think there __**is**__ to make here?"_

_Philip narrowed his eyes. "Exactly. This fucking small town and its pathetic boundaries…"_

_He must be cranky today, so Dale decided he'd better tread lightly. He'd never seen Philip come even close to what could be called losing his temper, but he wasn't about to risk that today. The younger man already seemed agitated. Maybe he was struggling with something else and didn't want to talk about it._

_Or maybe he was realizing that his pipe dreams were just that… nothing more than pipe dreams. There was no penthouse suite overlooking the city skyline waiting for him at the end of a career with Senoia Sanctuary Insurance. But was he only just now realizing that?_

_If only Dale could get through to him._

"_I can assure ya," he told Philip. "Frank doesn't have any kinda vendetta against you. It's all business. You might never make six figures, but I think you'll find a different kinda satisfaction from this line of work." He offered a small and hopeful smile._

"_Not the satisfaction I'm looking for," Philip muttered, wrapping one hand around his condensated glass of tea. "And I don't think I really believe you, anyway. Frank doesn't trust me and he doesn't __**like**__ me, that much is clear."_

_Clear how? Dale wanted to ask. He'd never seen a shred of evidence that would support Philip's theory. He thought maybe he hadn't been paying enough attention, but no. He knew Frank pretty well by now. _

_Philip, on the other hand? Well, Dale felt like he was still getting to know Philip. Even after a year of working less than ten feet apart, and well over a dozen lunch breaks spent together._

_This young man was unlike any Dale had ever met before. And he still wasn't sure whether it was in a good way, or if it was more like a giant red flag._

_But who was he to judge, anyhow? He reminded himself that everyone was fighting their own unseen battles, and there was always much more lying beneath the surface than what met the eye. Philip had his reasons for being paranoid. For being distrusting and maybe a little disconnected from reality. And he probably had his reasons for wanting to escape small towns forever._

_Dale just had to be patient and look a little deeper. Remain empathetic and understanding and, most of all, open-minded. He'd figure this guy out eventually._

_Just as Dale's inner thoughts went silent, that familiar and unseen force shoved Beth back. She regained her balance inside the elevator and watched the metal doors slide shut, like curtains closing upon a stage. The music started back up._

_She barely had time to think, 'Yes, show me more about him. He was always a little weird, that's a given. But I need to know __**everything**__ Dale knows.' And then the next button on the panel beside the doors was blinking, and she reached out to press it._

_The floor shifted beneath her and she felt the elevator rising. The sign changed from 'AD1986D2' to 'AD1986D3.'_

_**Ding!**_

_The music paused. The doors slid open, but as was expected, the crackly old filmstrip-like haze remained over everything in sight. Beth stepped out to find herself inside Senoia Sanctuary Insurance once again._

_There were Easter decorations scattered throughout the office. Dale's inner thoughts urged her forward and told her that this memory took place not long after the previous one inside the diner, though she'd already figured it out by taking note of all the little details. _

_Every floor this elevator took her to felt like another piece of some giant jigsaw puzzle—a brand new puzzle, something entirely separate from the one she was attempting to piece together with Daryl and Rick in the present day. Yet she knew it was connected. All of this was connected somehow. The more she understood, the more of an advantage she'd have over The Governor._

_The more of a chance Daryl stood against Papa Legba and that spot in Hell that was surely awaiting him._

_The insurance office was bustling with employee activity, but the sunlight pouring in through the plate-glass windows and the analog clock hanging on the wall indicated that it was late afternoon. It was getting close to quitting time for the 9-to-5 workers. Philip was at his desk, speaking quietly into the phone held to his ear. Dale was across the aisle at his own desk, filling out paperwork and humming softly to himself._

_A few seconds later, Philip ended the call and returned the phone to its cradle. Dale's eyes flicked up and watched discreetly as Philip proceeded to slide open his bottom desk drawer. He pulled out a small hardback book and opened it up to a page, grabbing his pen and jotting something down. Dale watched, his own pen gone motionless between his fingers._

_Philip must've scribbled at least a paragraph's worth of… __**something**__, his face taking on an odd and thoughtful expression as he did so. Then he closed the book and returned it to its spot in the bottom desk drawer, shoving it down beneath a few folders and a stack of stapled paperwork. He shut the desk drawer tightly and glanced over his shoulder, as though he could feel Dale watching him. But Dale had already averted his gaze back down to his work and resumed filling in blank lines on crisp white paper._

_He kept watching Philip from the corner of his eye, though. And it wasn't more than a minute or two before the younger man started packing his things up for the day into the black briefcase he always carried._

_Dale didn't lift his head until Philip had pulled his jacket off the back of his chair and slipped it on. "Another appointment?" He asked casually._

_Philip whipped his head around and met Dale's eyes for no more than a brief second, grabbing up his briefcase and pushing in his chair. "Yeah. See ya tomorrow, Dale."_

"_Have a good night, Philip," Dale said._

_He watched as Philip strode across the office and out the front door—always walking like he was a man on a mission._

_Dale didn't return to his paperwork, though. Instead, he looked over and eyeballed Philip's empty desk. A terribly uncharacteristic idea was forming in his head, and he was doing everything he could to convince himself not to let it go any farther._

_Because he should mind his own business. He really should._

_But dammit, Philip was so… __**off**__. So distant. So disconnected from everyone around him. And Dale had seen him writing in that mysterious little book on several occasions, and of course he'd never dared ask what Philip was writing. But no matter how hard he tried, no matter how many different approaches he attempted, he couldn't seem to get this young man to just let him in. He couldn't seem to figure out what the hell was really going on in Philip Blake's head._

_Since the paranoid talk about Frank, Philip had voiced his opinion about a handful of other coworkers in the office. Nothing he said ever really made sense, but Dale had taken one clear and concise message from all those conversations: Philip didn't trust __**anyone**__. Not a single soul. He claimed to trust Dale, but how could Dale believe that when he heard the way Philip talked about other innocent folks? When he consistently acted like everyone was out to get him, or hold him down, or otherwise staunch his potential?_

_He was also unhappy. __**Very**__ unhappy. In a way that Dale thought could be harmful given enough time and dissatisfaction. Yet Philip refused to even admit that he held deeper grudges than those borne from being confined to a small town life amidst his big city ambitions. And if he wouldn't admit it, he would never seek help for it._

_Dale just wanted to help. But he needed a clue as to __**how**__ he could help._

_So he waited, growing more nervous as he thought about what he wanted to do. How morally wrong and invasive it was. And while he waited, he kept trying to convince himself that this little breach of privacy was necessary. _

_By the time he'd justified it inside his own head, the clock had already passed 5. His coworkers gradually packed up their things and bid their goodbyes and left for the day. Less than an hour later, Frank was shutting and locking the door to the manager's office. He paused just long enough to remind Dale to lock up, and not to stay too late "because Irma might get worried." Then Frank was out the door and on his way home for the night._

_Which left Dale all alone with a completed stack of paperwork set out before him while his eyes lingered on the empty desk across the aisle._

_He didn't allow himself the chance to second guess his decision or back out at the last minute. Instead, he dropped his pen and stood up from his chair and walked the ten feet it took to reach Philip's desk. Then he crouched down and opened the bottom drawer, carefully shuffling through stacks of paperwork and color-coordinated folders until he found what he was looking for: the little hardback book that sat at the very bottom, pushed all the way to the back._

_Like Philip was trying to hide it._

_Dale struggled with his conscience, which told him that __**of course**__ Philip had hidden this damn thing, it was his own personal property and Dale had no right to go snooping through it. But that little angel on his shoulder did nothing more than chatter away uselessly while he pulled out the book and set it down atop the desk's surface. He carefully opened it to the first page._

_After that, he had no control whatsoever of what his eyes did or did not see. Once he started reading, it was impossible to stop. _

_The first few pages told him that this was some kind of journal, and though that made his stomach clench up into a tight knot, it didn't stop him from continuing. Philip had apparently been scribbling entries into this particular book since shortly after he moved to Senoia. In less than a year, he'd filled all but maybe a third of the pages with various scrawled entries and freehand sketches._

_Dale kept turning pages with careful fingers, his heart thumping hard against his ribcage. His eyes kept skimming through paragraphs and across pencil drawings:_

"… _thought it might be different here, but I should've known better. Even smaller town than Peachtree, what the hell did I expect? I look around and see all these oblivious fools perfectly happy with their sad little lives in this podunk shithole. Ignorance really is bliss, isn't it? I can't help but wonder why I couldn't have been born like everyone else. Normal. Simple. Stupid. But I've always felt out of place. As far back as I can remember. My own mother couldn't even understand me. So why do I keep letting myself think I might find something different? Why can't I be happy with so little, like everyone else? Why the fuck can't I break this cursed cycle that my shithead parents brought me into?…"_

"… _been spending too much gas money on driving back and forth to Peachtree for their library. Surprised to find out the Senoia library has quite a few useful resources. Lots of older medical textbooks. Spent the whole weekend browsing and taking notes. Nearly filled another notebook. Sadly, had to cross-reference at the Peachtree library on this entomologist's paper that I found from 1951 — __JAY TRAVER__. But all I can find are texts from the last couple decades discrediting all her research and findings. Very disappointing. Might have to drive up to Atlanta and check there for less biased info. I think they have one of those computer catalogs…"_

"… _been having trouble sleeping the last week. Wake up in the middle of the night and I can hear the damn things squirming around in my stomach. Tried a new detox method but no results yet. Got another doctor appointment tomorrow, hopefully he'll give me an anti-parasitic that actually fucking works this time. I'm so goddamn tired…"_

_A sketch of what seemed to be worms and tiny insect-like beings writhing around inside a human stomach, some of them crawling up to the arms and all the way to the throat at the top of the page._

"… _the invaders seem to love rare steak. Lucky for them, so do I. Offers me a few hours of peace if I eat it in the middle of the day. Puts them to sleep. Think I'll bring it up to the doc—maybe an iron deficiency?…"_

"… _more antipsychotics. WHY ? This is such bullshit. That corporate fucking schill won't listen to a damn thing I say, just keeps telling me it's all in my head and to keep up with my meds. I WILL NOT BE MEDICATED INTO SILENCE. No one will fucking listen to me. I'll __MAKE__ them listen. I have boxes and boxes full of notebooks to support my research. Probably going to switch doctors again…"_

_A sketch of the American medical caduceus with a big red X slashed over it. _

"… _slept like shit again. But not because of the little unwelcome visitors. Haven't had a dream in months, but my stubborn brother showed up last night. Fucking asshole. He was missing half his head and when he tried to talk, all that came out was blood and brain matter. He looked awfully disappointed, too. Like he always did. Wish he'd just leave me alone already. Had no problem abandoning me when he was alive, but now he's dead, he wants to pop up and try to fuck with my head? Typical Brian. Guess some things never change, even after death. Might need to ask the doc for more of those sleeping pills. Even though they make the worms more active. Side effects are unavoidable, I suppose…"_

_A less-than-detailed sketch of a man standing in the middle of the page, no face, but half his skull missing and a gun clenched in his hand._

"… _why do these small town folk get so insistent on knowing and befriending everyone in their vicinity? Why can't I just have some fucking peace and be left the hell alone? I'll admit, it can be nice to have someone to talk to. I'm guilty of that. The pathetic little monkey brain part of me that starves for human connection. Not my thing, though. I don't want to go into these people's houses or meet their fucking wives or make small talk for 3 hours over a subpar homecooked meal. I'd rather be bending some blonde over a toilet in that disgusting hick bar—at least I get a few minutes of actual pleasure out of that. How do I make this worth my time? I keep trying to figure it out. What can I learn from these simple-minded morons that might help me on my path? Could one of these hillbillies have the solution I've been looking for all these years?…"_

"… _had that stupid dream again last night. The one that keeps following me. I think the first time I had it was when I was in high school. I can't even remember anymore. Not sure why it keeps happening. I don't believe in that stuff. And the dream itself makes about zero fucking sense. Starting to think it might be the parasites getting into my brain…"_

_A vague sketch of a Ouija board with the planchette placed in the middle._

"… _found some interesting new texts. Stuff about the global conspiracy and the new world order and what the elites are planning. How they've been keeping us in line for centuries. Not sure about the Satanic connections because I never really fell for that shit. But it's fascinating nonetheless. Didn't let myself fall too far down that rabbit hole, but it's definitely given me a lot to think about. I already knew the doctors were all in on some kind of nationwide (or global?) plan to keep people like me—people who asked too many questions—quiet and medicated. But maybe it really does go farther. Even people like JFK and MLK Jr. Maybe they knew things that could've blown the whole conspiracy wide open? We can only really guess. Think I'd better stick to figuring out why my body's been invaded and why I'm somehow immune to all their efforts to dumb me down…"_

"… _been hitting a little roadblock with the research lately. I think I've gone through damn near every medical textbook and entomology book in both libraries. Started driving up to Atlanta for weekend visits to their library—love that computer catalog, so convenient, can't believe how quickly technology is evolving—but that leaves me with weeknights to myself. Decided I deserve a little break. Started going back to that bar on the edge of town. It's sketchy as hell and dirty, but it gives me a great view of all the locals. I get to eavesdrop on all the little bits of intel and gossip. Put on my business face and talk to them like I respect them (it can get draining, but so can reading through medical textbooks). Actually helped me a couple times to nail a new client. I know, weird right? Wouldn't think these dumbfucks would even think about insurance, let alone have the money to afford the shit I'm selling them. Most of them are so fucking miserable and desperate to feel free, it's kind of hilarious. Might have found another new client. We'll see…"_

_A sketch of a bar and two empty barstools. There were two beer mugs sitting close together atop the bar, and an ashtray between them._

"… _had another shitty dream last night. Not sure what's causing them. Torn between taking the sleeping pills and risking the nightmares. Wasn't Brian this time, thankfully. But it was those kids from school. It was like I was right back there, hormonal and angry and hurt and humiliated and completely fucking helpless. They kept taunting me. Laughing at me. Calling me The Governor. Of course, as a mature adult, I know now that they were just jealous. None of them understood me. They were scared, as simple-minded folks always are. They thought they could bully me into conforming. If they pointed out my natural penchant for leadership and greatness and boundless intellect, they'd have to admit and recognize that they could never match up to me… I think I'll use that name from now on. __The Governor__. Has a nice ring to it. Say it in the right voice and it's downright menacing. People wouldn't even consider fucking with a guy called The Governor… Someday, those asshole fucking kids will regret ever coming up with the name. I've still got most of their addresses in one of my notebooks. Maybe I'll pay some more visits once I claw my way out of this shithole. They'll see what I can become…"_

_A sketch of four nondescript children standing upon a playground and pointing. There was a big storm cloud drawn above their heads, hovering threateningly. It was labeled THE GOVERNOR._

"… _already had the feeling most of the dickheads I work with were out to hold me down. Well, it was confirmed today by the biggest dickhead of them all, my boss. Denied a new client for no good fucking reason. He's fucking with my money and he knows it. He wants to keep me here as long as possible, to rot and wither away like all these other dead-eyed robots. He knows I could take his job and he's doing everything to keep me below him. Not sure why I ever thought this company might be different than the last. I'll do my time and then I'll make my way somewhere higher. Hopefully it won't take me more than a couple years. Don't know how much longer I can put up with these empty shells that call themselves people…"_

"… _decided on another approach with the new client. Think this might work ! It'll cost the rest of my savings, but it's an investment I'm willing to make. The profit will be more than worth it. I could actually get the fuck out of Georgia entirely with that kind of money. Fingers crossed…"_

_The final entry—the one Philip must've been scribbling when Dale had watched him earlier—was brief:_

"_Going to tell this doctor where to shove his pills and see if he wants to try one more time to give me what I need before I switch over to the new doctor. Not getting my hopes up. Bringing a few of my notebooks to try and convince him, even though it's never worked before. Probably just going to end up leaving pissed off, like the last six doctors. At least I have the meeting at the bar to look forward to later. Should be an interesting discussion. Fingers still tightly crossed."_

_Dale closed the book with trembling hands. Somehow, rather than finding any sort of answers, sneaking a peek at Philip's private journal had left Dale with even more questions than he'd already had. Questions that he would never be able to ask aloud._

_Philip was even further gone than he could've imagined. How had he been so blind? This young man was struggling—severely struggling. That much was clear. He was alone and going out of his mind because anyone who'd ever known him well enough was dead and gone. And every person around him was none the wiser._

_But what could Dale do? He shouldn't have even seen this damn book. He shouldn't have tried to get close. Yet something told him that Philip needed help. __**His**__ help. Maybe he just needed a little reality check, a little fatherly guidance. From one man to another. A little push in the right direction, in order to keep him out of harm's way._

_Dale carefully returned the hardback journal to its spot at the very bottom of the desk drawer. And as he glanced across the folders and stapled stacks of paperwork, he wondered… Who was the new client that Frank had denied? Why was Philip so upset about it?_

_He shut the bottom drawer and opened the drawer just above it. Sure enough, just as Dale had assumed, there was a carbon copy pad used for new client documents. He pulled it out and began flipping through it, squinting down at the faint writing that had copied over onto the bright yellow paper._

_He didn't have to guess which new client had been denied. Dale knew as soon as he saw the name scrawled on the page: William Dixon._

_That guy rarely even had insurance on his truck. Why would he be agreeing to buying a plan from Philip? Where'd he get the money? And why would he even __**need**__ insurance like this?_

_Dale realized what this was: there was a property plan for the trailer that Will owned, as well as a life insurance plan for his wife, Leanne. But—wait. Another life insurance plan…_

_For Daryl Dixon? The eight-year-old son? What the hell? Why would that __**ever**__ be necessary?_

_Yet there was nothing for Merle Dixon, the eldest son. Even though he'd shipped off to the Service. Maybe the military offered their own kind of life insurance plan to the next of kin? Dale wasn't sure, he had no experience with understanding all the technicalities of the military. But that wasn't the part that bothered him, anyway._

_The amounts listed on the paperwork were laughable, as were all of Will's credentials. Dale nearly rolled his eyes when he realized that this was the denial Philip was so upset over. How could he have thought Frank would approve something like this? Especially when everyone in Senoia knew all about the unemployed, wife-beating, binge-drinking, drug-using Will Dixon. No one in their right mind would insure that guy._

_Dale was putting the pieces together in his head very quickly. Obviously, Philip had met Will down at that sketchy bar, The Dirty Penny. They must've gotten to talking. Philip must not know about Will's reputation. The infamous Dixon patriarch probably fooled Philip with some kind of get-rich-quick scheme._

_Decisively, Dale shoved the pad of carbon copies back where he'd found them and shut the desk drawer. He stepped back, still shaking a bit, his heart still racing. He knew what he had to do._

_Philip needed guidance. He needed to be warned about the dangers of colluding with a Dixon. He needed a few words of advice._

_And clearly, Dale was the only one who could give that to him._

_Once again, Beth was forced back onto the elevator by a force she couldn't resist. Dale's inner thoughts drifted away and the metal doors slid shut. The out-of-place classical music played around her._

_The next two buttons on the panel were blinking this time, and though she wasn't sure what it meant, she chose to keep up the pattern she'd been following. She reached out and pressed the first blinking button._

_The elevator shifted and ascended. The tentacle-vines squirmed to life and began writhing within her core._

_The glowing display above the doors switched from 'AD1986D3' to 'AD1978D1.' At first, she thought it might've been a glitch. It didn't seem like the correct pattern._

_But then there was a __**ding!**_

_The doors slid open and the music paused. Beth stepped out into bright afternoon sunlight. The tentacle-vines seemed to be going crazy beneath her skin, and she wasn't sure why._

_One glance around told her she was in the parking lot of one of the only two grocery stores in Senoia, though it was vastly different than she'd ever seen it in her lifetime. All the cars were 60s and 70s models, and the few people walking through with full carts of groceries were dressed in late 70s attire, with the hairstyles to match. It was the middle of summer. Close to Independence Day, she guessed, based on the fireworks stand set up on the far end of the parking lot._

_She walked across the pavement, urged forward by the distant sound of Dale's inner thoughts. He was alone, and he appeared younger than all the previous memories. He was walking away from his car and heading towards the entrance of the grocery store. Beth followed close behind._

_Just as he was approaching the doors, they were thrust open and a family of three was herded out by the very angry store manager. A man and his pregnant wife, along with their elementary school-aged son, stumbled out over the sidewalk. The wife tried to shuffle away shamefully, urging her son along as well, but the husband was turning back to curse at the store manager._

"_Hey, __**fuck you**__! I came in here to spend my hard-earned money, ya fuckin' prick!"_

_The store manager stood his ground, glaring at the unkempt man. "Go on, Will, get the hell outta here. I don't want yer business—already told y'all not to go bringin' that brat in here till you teach him some basic manners."_

_Beth figured it out in the split-second before Dale's inner thoughts confirmed it for her: she was seeing the Dixon family._

_They were all dressed in raggedy, dirty clothing, though Will was the worst of all. His mud-colored brown hair went past his shoulders, greasy and stringy, and his strong jawline was covered in a week's worth of stubble. He was tall, at least six feet and a couple inches. Just by looking at him, Beth could see where the Dixon boys had inherited their body types and physical mannerisms. She could even see where they'd inherited the shape of their eyes, their jaws, and their hairlines._

_Leanne, on the other hand, was better kempt. She'd tried, at least. Her long, sandy blonde hair was pulled back in a loose bun, and her pregnant form was draped in a stained, mustard yellow dress. She looked nothing like Beth had imagined. She had soft, dark blue eyes—the same color as her youngest son's. Her children had clearly inherited her cheekbones and modest forehead. She was petite, no more than five feet tall, and walked with sagging shoulders, as though she were carrying an unseen weight on her back._

_Little Merle would've been indistinguishable if not for the signature scowl on his face. A head full of shaggy, bright blonde hair, and eyes as blue as freshwater. He looked like he hadn't been bathed in a month._

_Dale had paused and stepped aside, waiting for the tense scene to clear before he tried to walk past and enter the store. He saw Will Dixon acting a damn fool, and poor Leanne Dixon trying to steer clear of the inevitable blowback, keeping her little boy Merle close at her side. Though Merle was standing by with a rebellious scowl, watching his dad argue._

"_**Manners**__, huh?!" Will Dixon slashed an arm through the air angrily. Beth reeled at the sight, taken aback by how familiar it looked. Then he was jabbing a finger in the manager's direction. "You wanna accuse my boy of stealin', but yer the __**dumbass**__ who won't even let us get to the checkout. How the __**fuck**__ you know he was tryin'a steal?!"_

"_Last week it was a whole ham, this week it was a rack of ribs," the store manager argued. "My store, my rules. Now you go on an' get yer delinquent kin the hell off my property 'fore I call the cops!"_

_The manager turned and stormed back inside while Will flipped him the bird. Then the Dixon patriarch marched over to his waiting wife and son. He slapped Merle upside the head and cursed at him._

"_Stupid little fucker. Can't even take you in to buy some goddamn __**peanut butter**__ without you gettin' us kicked out. I swear, soon as we get home—"_

_Leanne stepped between them and looked up at her husband. "Go easy, Will. He's a growin' boy, he's just hungry."_

_Will's eyes flashed with anger and he towered over her, hands clenching into fists at his sides. "Oh, so now yer defending this little retard? __**Hungry**__, huh? What're you sayin', woman? I don't provide enough—fuckin' peanut butter sandwiches ain't __**good**__ enough for ya? Why don'tcha get yerself a fuckin' job an' start puttin' some __**real**__ food on the table, 'f you think yer so high an' fuckin' mighty!"_

_She cowered, visibly deflating out of fear and meekly nodding. "I'm sorry baby, I didn't mean—"_

"_Nah, I know __**exactly**__ what ya fuckin' meant, bitch," Will interrupted. "And ya know what? Y'all can __**walk**__ yer asses home. Let's see how __**hungry**__ ya get after that!"_

_He turned his head and spat on the ground, and Dale flinched when he saw the sharp pinch Will gave to Leanne's upper arm before he stormed off in the opposite direction. She and Merle stood silently, watching as he left them and got into his beat-up old truck. He peeled out of the parking lot as fast as he could, tires screeching on the pavement and a cloud of exhaust billowing in his wake._

_Dale hesitated where he was. A few people had come and gone from the grocery store, but they'd all quickly looked away from the scene playing out nearby. He should've looked away, too. But he simply couldn't._

_Everyone knew the Dixons. Everyone knew how they… operated. And everyone had silently agreed that it was none of their business._

_That's just how things were sometimes. You didn't go intervening, trying to step in and tell a man how to run his household. It just wasn't polite._

_Even when the wife was constantly sporting fresh bruises. Even when the child was sporting similar bruises, and acting out and causing trouble all over town._

_Leanne had stepped a little farther away from the doors, keeping a very displeased Merle at her side, and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. She was lighting one up and taking in a deep drag when Dale approached her._

_Before he could say anything, she was rolling her eyes and frowning at him, turning away. "Show's over, asshole. Nothin' ta see here."_

"_Leanne, it's just me," Dale said, speaking and standing before her like he would a skittish animal._

_She shot him a side-eye and crossed one arm over her swollen breasts, resting it atop her heavily pregnant belly. Her other arm bent routinely to bring the cigarette to her lips and away. "I know it's you, Mr. Horvath. That's why I said show's over. You can get back to yer pleasant grocery trip now."_

_Merle stepped forward and glared up at Dale, his voice high-pitched and angry. "Fuck off, old man. Leave my mama alone."_

_Leanne gently tapped the boy on the top of his head and urged him back. "Hush up now, he's not an old man, Merle. You've caused enough trouble today."_

_What was he, eight? Maybe nine years old? And he was already filled with so much rage. It made Dale deeply sad to see such a thing developing in a boy so young._

_Like father, like son, he remembered. Or so the saying went._

"_I just wanted to see if I could offer y'all a ride home," Dale said, keeping his eyes on the Dixon matriarch._

_Something flickered in her blue eyes, but she quickly glanced away and took another drag from her cigarette. "Well I appreciate the offer, but our legs work just fine. We don't need yer charity."_

_He frowned, glancing down at her big belly. She was already sweating in the mid-afternoon Georgia humidity, beads of perspiration that made her sun-bleached hair stick to her forehead and neck. Merle stood off to the side, dressed in clothes that were obviously too small for him, kicking pebbles across the sidewalk with evident frustration._

"_It's not charity," Dale assured. "Just neighborly kindness. What is it, two, three miles away? That's an awful long walk fer a little boy and a pregnant woman."_

_She sighed, ashing her cigarette. "Me an' my boys are __**survivors**__. A little walk ain't nothin'."_

_Dale perked up. "So you're havin' another boy?" He smiled. "Congratulations, Leanne."_

_At that, a genuine smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. Only for the briefest second, though. She took another drag off her smoke and muttered, "Yep. Another boy. Gonna name him after __**my**__ granddaddy this time."_

"_That's wonderful," Dale said. He tried to keep the same congenial tone in his voice as he insisted, "You look like yer about to pop any day. I can only imagine how swollen your feet must be—let me give you a ride. I can drop y'all off down the road. Will would be none the wiser."_

_Leanne's eyebrows creased and she took a half-step away, shooting Dale another glare. "I said, no __**thank**__ you. Now leave us be, alright? Ain't right to go pokin' yer nose in other folks' family affairs."_

_Dale's face fell and he let out a sigh of defeat. He gave one last glance towards Merle, who seemed to be in his own little world as he crouched down and collected a palmful of small rocks. There was a big purple-and-green bruise on his upper arm peeking out from beneath the sleeve of his shirt._

_Then Dale shrugged. "Fine. Can I at least get ya anything from the store? Maybe that peanut butter you came for—"_

"_I __**said**__, fuck off," Leanne spat._

_Dale's heart sank, but he had no choice except to turn away and walk on._

_Sometimes, he really hated this damn town._

**to be continued… **


	55. The Definition of a Lost Cause

**The Definition of a Lost Cause**

_Beth was ripped away from her brief glimpse of the Dixon family in a pre-Daryl era, shoved back into the elevator against her will. The grocery store parking lot disappeared behind shiny metal doors. Elevator music filled her ears once again._

_The tentacle-vines squirmed like a million maggots beneath her skin and within her core, completely unsettled. Though they didn't seem to be capable of reaching out in this place, no matter how badly they wanted to._

_She was still reeling, barely allotted enough time to comprehend what she'd just seen: Merle and Daryl's mama, pregnant with Daryl, taking abuse from the infamous Will Dixon outside of a grocery store. Beth had hoped for a glance at how The Governor worked, who else he might know, where he might be hiding._

_She'd never expected to see the battered woman who was carrying the fetus of Daryl Dixon inside her womb._

_But Beth didn't linger on any of that for longer than a second; her mind wouldn't allow it. She'd come to this place with intent and purpose. And she was already looking over at the panel of buttons. At the third button in the third row, blinking as though it were urging her on._

_She reached out and pressed it. The elevator shifted beneath her feet and rose to the next level. The digital display above the door changed from 'AD1978D1' to 'AD1986D4.'_

_**Ding!**_

_The music paused. The tentacle-vines calmed and settled somewhere inside her body. The doors slid open, and Beth didn't hesitate before stepping over the threshold._

_She recognized Senoia Sanctuary Insurance immediately. Dale and Philip working at their respective desks. Bright afternoon sunlight pouring in through the big plate-glass windows at the front of the office. Easter decorations tastefully scattered throughout the workspaces. The analog clock hanging on the wall._

_It was a quarter past noon and most of the desks were empty save for an employee near the front, who was eating at his desk, and another employee seated two desks ahead of Philip, who was working vigilantly on a stack of paperwork laid out before her. The door to Frank's office was shut tight with a handwritten paper sign taped to the front: 'Out To Lunch.'_

_Dale was focused on his work, trying to catch up on a backlog of paperwork that had arrived over the weekend. He'd noticed Philip working well into their lunch break today as well, though he wasn't sure why. They hadn't spoken much over the last week._

_Admittedly, Dale felt a little guilty for snooping through Philip's desk and skimming his personal journal. But what he'd learned had been so off-putting that he still hadn't figured out how to approach the younger man. Nor had he figured out how to continue acting like he was completely ignorant. They'd only spent two lunch breaks together since then, and Dale was finding it harder and harder to keep all his questions—and concerns—to himself. Though Philip didn't seem very interested in Dale's company, anyway. Not that he ever had, but he'd grown even more closed-off over the past month or so._

_Which only urged Dale to reach out and help even more. He hadn't made any attempts yet, though. He didn't know how. He had no idea how to approach such a thing without confessing to invading Philip's privacy._

_The front door swung open very suddenly, shattering the silence like glass. A burst of warm, humid air rushed through the office. Will Dixon strode in, a wild look in his eyes. He spotted Philip immediately and scowled._

"_You gonna blow me off, asshole?!"_

_Philip was already out of his chair and crossing the room, rushing up to Will and responding in a hushed tone, "What the hell're you doin' here? I __**told**__ you I might be late today—are you __**drunk**__?"_

_Will slashed an arm through the air and took a step back, looking Philip up and down with squinted eyes. "The fuck business's that a yers? Huh? We had a fuckin' __**appointment**__, boy."_

_Dale and the two other employees inside the office were watching with wide eyes from behind the safety of their partitions. The female employee already had her hand on the phone, prepared to pick it up and call the police. Philip glanced back over his shoulder, frowning and tensing up when he realized all eyes were on him and the infamous Dixon._

_He reached out and grabbed Will's upper arm, jerking him towards the front door. "We can talk __**outside**__," he hissed._

_Will jerked his arm back and shoved Philip's chest with his other hand, letting out a grunt of disagreement. "Get'cher __**fuckin'**__ hands off me—"_

_But Philip merely tightened his grasp and shoved Will a little harder, until the older man was stumbling over the threshold and out onto the sidewalk. Dale stood up and watched as the front door fell shut and the two men disappeared from view through the plate-glass windows. Will's voice carried, his disgruntled arguments still barely audible, but Philip's voice was too muffled to decipher. And then they'd walked far enough down the sidewalk that they couldn't be seen or heard._

_The other employees exchanged an uneasy glance and some raised eyebrows, but a moment later, they were back to working and eating their lunches. Dale, on the other hand, was still standing at his desk and gazing towards the front door with deep concern._

_What the hell was Will Dixon doing here? Why was Philip making "appointments" with that man? Didn't he know what he was getting himself into?_

_What the hell was that poor boy being convinced to do by the no-good, scheming Dixon patriarch?_

_Philip didn't return for over an hour. By that time, everyone was back from lunch and working into the second half of their day._

_As he walked through the office to his desk, the two employees who'd seen Will show up gave him wary side-eyes, but he didn't acknowledge them. Dale didn't even lift his head to look at Philip, pretending to be too busy to notice his arrival. Though he watched Philip from the corner of his eye. It was no surprise that the younger man appeared a little more agitated than usual._

_The work day went on without incident. The clock hit 5 and everyone packed up, bidding their goodbyes and heading out to their cars. But Dale lingered behind. Philip was always one of the last to leave, probably because he wanted to avoid the mingling between employees that went on in the parking lot. And today was no different._

_Dale wasn't stupid; he knew it wasn't wise to try and bring up Will Dixon right now. Philip would just get angry and embarrassed and defensive. So he planned to try and appear casually concerned, maybe play it off as an interest in simply speaking to him. Perhaps it would be easier to approach the subject over tomorrow's lunch…?_

_Philip didn't tuck away all his paperwork and stand from his desk until a solid five minutes had passed since Frank and the last employee left the building. The sun was quickly descending behind the horizon outside._

_As he grabbed his jacket and briefcase, Dale stood up as well._

"_Uh—hey, Philip…"_

_The younger man paused and turned to look over at Dale expectantly, eyebrows raised and a frown on his face._

_Dale offered a warm smile and cleared his throat before he went on, "Ain't been havin' lunch together too often the last couple weeks. Whadd'ya say we go to the diner tomorrow? Steaks on me."_

_Philip pushed in his chair and, without looking at Dale, replied, "'Fraid I'm booked this week. Maybe some other time, Dale."_

_Dale hadn't really expected to be turned down so promptly. Without thinking, he said, "Oh—all booked up, huh? With Dixon, I reckon?"_

_He tried to come off as teasing and light-hearted, but as soon as it came out, he knew that wasn't how the other man interpreted it._

_Philip flashed a defensive scowl before turning away. "I don't think that's any of your business."_

_Dale snapped his mouth shut, taken aback. It was the response he was anticipating, but at the same time, he hadn't __**really**__ anticipated it._

_Before he could say anything else, Philip was taking long, purposeful strides towards the front door. Dale hurriedly gathered his things, throwing on his jacket and speed-walking through the office to catch up. Philip was already outside and halfway down the sidewalk by the time Dale reached him._

"_Hey now," Dale said, walking faster than normal to keep pace with the younger man. "I didn't mean it like that. I was just askin'. Ain't gotta lock me out like some kinda __**stranger**__, Philip."_

_Philip halted in his tracks and turned his body to the side, facing Dale and glaring down at him. They were standing on the edge of the parking lot asphalt, just at the end of the sidewalk. The sun was sinking quickly, sky darkening to an orange-tinted violet, and streetlights were flickering to life around them. The shadows fell upon Philip's face in a way that made him look almost menacing. Dale struggled to keep a straight spine and squared shoulders, suddenly overcome with a sense of intimidation._

"_You __**are**__ a stranger, Dale," Philip said flatly. "Don't be mistaken."_

_Dale reeled, his wary smile vanishing and his eyebrows furrowing together. "What—well, that's simply not true. I consider you a good friend."_

_Philip's eyes flashed darker for a split-second, his scowl deepening. But his voice remained just as flat, just as emotionless. "I don't __**have**__ friends. You are a __**stranger**__. Everyone in that office is a stranger. Everyone in this __**town**__ is a stranger." He'd gotten too good at reading Dale's face, because he saw the next question forming behind his lips and cut it off quickly, "Yes, even Will Dixon. Even the bartender at The Dirty Penny. Even all those clients I pretend to give a shit about. You're all __**strangers**__ to me."_

_Dale blinked and took a half-step back, gazing up at Philip with what could only be described as deep disappointment._

_Nonetheless, Dale wasn't one to give up so easily._

"_Because you __**make**__ us strangers," he insisted, putting a little heft into his normally congenial tone. "You don't have to do all this __**alone**__, Philip. Ya hear me? The world isn't so gray and dreary as you'd like ta think it is. If you'd open your eyes, look around and see who's on yer side, you might—"_

"_Oh, trust me," Philip scoffed, an amused smirk playing across his lips. "My eyes are __**wide**__ fucking open."_

"_Clearly they're __**not**__," Dale argued, his voice beginning to rise with agitation. "I get it, alrigh'? Yer young, ambitious, itchin' to get outta these small towns—but __**Christ**__. Making deals with a __**Dixon**__ is no way to reach your goals, Philip. Why, it's downright __**stupid**__!"_

_Philip took a half-step closer and leered over the older man. And even though he was only a few inches taller, Dale felt like Philip was towering over him. His eyes darkened from azure to jade, nostrils flaring and jaw tensing._

"_You wanna talk about __**stupid**__, Dale?" He spat, his thin mouth tilting downward in a sneer. His contempt was palpable. "__**Stupid**__ is tryin' to act like someone's __**father**__ just because you and your wife are incapable of having kids of your own."_

_Dale's stomach dropped to his feet and his mouth went dry. He had no words. His eyes widened, but he couldn't tear them away from Philip's intense gaze. He fought back tears, praying to God his pain wasn't as obvious as it felt._

_But goddamn, he hadn't expected to have that so blatantly thrown back in his face. And it __**hurt**__._

"_You don't __**know**__ me," Philip went on, low and threatening. "You will __**never**__ know me. We are __**not**__ friends. And if you try to get in my way ever again, I think you'd best just remind yourself how many __**talks**__ we've had. I __**know**__ you, Dale Horvath. I know what you've done to keep you an' yours afloat… When it comes down to it, I won't hesitate to __**throw you under the bus**__—as you so eloquently put it."_

_Dale retained his composure and stared up at Philip with gentle defiance, nearing the edge of pleading. "You can spit poison at me all day long, but I won't stop tryin' to __**help**__ you. Why're you doin' this? You're better—I __**believe**__ that. You're smart, you're capable. I—I just can't fathom why you'd believe __**anything**__ Will Dixon tells you. He's bad news, Philip. He's a scam artist. You'll regret ever gettin' involved with him."_

_Philip didn't waver. He frowned and narrowed his eyes._

_The silence hung between the two men like a taut string. Dale hadn't even realized he'd been holding his breath until his lungs began to ache. He let it out through his nose slowly._

_But Philip was still stiff as a board. His hands were clenching into fists at his side, the knuckles of one hand turning white from their grip on the briefcase. As though he were contemplating… __**doing**__ something._

_He must've decided against it though, because his frown slowly turned upwards. Until he was smirking. All too confidently. Almost smug._

"_Your determination is admirable, Dale," he drawled. His smirk disappeared. "But unnecessary. Save your breath an' keep your opinions to yourself… And keep your __**mouth**__ shut. This has nothin' to do with you."_

_Dale countered with the first thing that came to mind: "No man is an island, Philip."_

_But Philip didn't flinch. "__**This**__ man is," he spat._

_Then he promptly turned and strode off towards his car. Leaving Dale standing speechless at the end of the sidewalk, shocked and appalled and downright hopeless._

_Maybe he was wrong, after all. Maybe men like Philip simply didn't __**want**__ to be better. Maybe some people were too far gone to be helped, no matter how young and full of potential they might seem. Maybe the effort and the heartache really weren't worth it in the long run._

_Maybe Dale was better off just minding his own business._

_Beth was shoved back harder than ever, through the office and back into the elevator, where she stumbled and regained her balance with shaky feet. Something was tingling within her core, and she couldn't figure out if it was the tentacle-vines or something else entirely._

_But she didn't waste any time contemplating it. The doors slid shut and the elevator music started up again. She looked over to see the next button on the panel blinking, urging her to press it. So she did. The metallic encasement around her shifted and ascended. The digital display above the doors changed from 'AD1986D4' to 'AD1986D5.'_

_She enjoyed a very brief moment of relief knowing that she would be seeing more about The Governor and not another out-of-place, painful flashback pertaining to the Dixon family. Then she remembered that she didn't know exactly __**what**__ she would be seeing, because clearly Dale knew __**a lot **__more than he'd let on, so she'd better just prepare herself for the worst. _

_**Ding!**_

_Thankfully, when the doors slid open and the music paused and she stepped across the threshold, the scene that formed was inside Senoia Sanctuary Insurance. Dale was walking to Frank's office and entering, closing the door tightly behind him._

_Beth followed. As she passed through the office and all the employees working at their desks, she noticed that the Easter decorations were gone. And based on how everyone was dressed, it was getting pretty hot and humid outside._

_Inside the tiny manager's office—which didn't look much different from its present-day state, save for newer furniture and the addition of a computer—Dale was taking a seat across from Frank, smiling warmly while Frank gazed at him over the desk. According to Dale's inner thoughts, he had no idea why Frank had called him in here. The only reason he could think of was that Frank was possibly extending an invitation for his annual Memorial Day cookout. _

_However, the somber expression on his boss's face made him a little worried. And he realized this probably had nothing to do with the Memorial Day cookout._

_Frank cleared his throat, leaning back in his chair and settling his gray-blue eyes on Dale. "So, Dale… I know you an' Philip are friends. And that's why I'm comin' to you about this. But I'd like it to stay between us."_

_Dale's heart sped up and he tensed in his seat, his smile quickly fading. "I wouldn't say we're __**friends**__, exactly."_

_He couldn't forget how Philip had spoken to him that night. How the younger man had made it very clear that they were not friends and would never be. How he used exactly what he knew would hurt Dale most in order to push him away for good. They'd barely spoken since. There were no more lunch dates, no attempts at any sort of casual friendship. Their relationship was strictly business now, and the only time they talked was when their work necessitated it._

_Dale figured that was for the best. Philip wanted distance. That much was obvious. And Dale wasn't about to risk his livelihood and his marriage just to push unsolicited help on some guy who was, quite frankly, out of his damn mind._

_For the first time in his life, Dale considered someone a Lost Cause. And as much as he hated it, he couldn't change that fact._

_Sometimes, you just have to accept that you can't change everything._

_Or so he told himself. He was getting older, but he wasn't getting so old that he'd refuse to learn new lessons._

_Philip was just that: a lesson. He was the line that had to be drawn. Dale couldn't help him; all he could do was pray that someone could figure out how to help that poor boy someday. Before he got himself in too deep to ever get out. Before he __**hurt**__ someone._

_That person would not be Dale, though. And he'd accepted that. In a blunt sort of way, the risk was not worth the reward._

_Frank's brow creased and he frowned. "Oh—well, I just thought, since y'all seem to have lunch together pretty often, an' yer the only one I ever really see him talkin' to…"_

_Dale shrugged, trying to sound as casual and indifferent as possible, hoping he wasn't going to come off as accusatory or bitter. "He doesn't much care for me. 'Spose I came on a little too strong. He's not the social type." _

_Frank nodded and let out a hmph of interest. "Huh. Well, all the same… I'd like yer opinion."_

_Dale's eyes grew wider. "On what?"_

_Frank cleared his throat again and said, "Like I said, I'd like this to stay between __**us**__…"_

_Dale quickly nodded. "Of course, Frank." He motioned to close an invisible zipper over his mouth._

_Frank seemed to relax the slightest, but he kept his voice low. "Stella mentioned somethin' the other day about Will Dixon comin' in here lookin' fer Philip a couple weeks back—said you an' Mike were the only other two people here, an' y'all saw him, too. Or so she __**says**__. What happened? D'you remember?"_

_Dale shifted uncomfortably in his seat, frown deepening. He didn't look away from his boss's gaze, though. "Yeah, I remember. Stella's tellin' it right. Wasn't a big deal, though. Didn't think it was worth mentioning. You know how that Dixon can be."_

"_Yeah, I do know," Frank agreed. "That's why I'm askin' you. What'd he come in here for? What was he yellin' at Philip about?"_

"_Oh, the hell if I know," Dale lied, waving it off like it was nonsense. "I think he was drunk. Coulda just been lost."_

_Frank ticked his jaw to the side in dissatisfaction. "Didn't much sound that way. Way Stella told it, Will was hollerin' about Philip blowing him off—like they had some kind of appointment."_

_Dale pursed his lips and stared back at Frank, unsure of what to say next. Was he supposed to cover for Philip right now?_

_What would happen if he didn't?_

_Frank reiterated, "You don't know __**anything**__ about it?"_

_Dale finally sighed, his shoulders slumping. "What d'you want me to say, Frank? I don't talk to the kid anymore. He barely told me shit, even when we were havin' lunch together three times a week. I don't have the faintest clue why that Dixon scoundrel was causin' a fuss. Hell, fer all I know, it coulda been no more than a case of mistaken identity. Can't say I bothered to ask. Philip seemed to have the situation under control."_

_Frank glanced away, frowning and obviously displeased with this lack of an answer. He appeared genuinely confused as he muttered, "Thought you might be the one person in the office who'd have an idea what's goin' on… I ain't ever dealt with somethin' like this before. I don't even know where to start."_

_Dale furrowed his brow. "With what? What d'you think is goin' on?"_

_Frank sighed and met Dale's eyes with trepidation. "Well, Philip tried to get me to approve a deal with Dixon a few weeks back. I turned him down of course, but I could tell he was pissed about it. Then I find out that he went over my head with a __**new**__ deal—straight to corporate—an' got approved."_

_Dale's jaw dropped. "You're kidding."_

_Frank shook his head. "Wish I was. Thing is… I can't figure out how he fixed the numbers."_

"_Fixed the numbers?" Dale repeated, confused._

"_Yeah," Frank explained. "The deal that corporate approved had __**much**__ higher numbers. And the deposits to back 'em up. So naturally, I'm wonderin'... where the hell'd he get that kinda money? 'Cause I know Will Dixon sure as shit ain't got it."_

_Dale pursed his lips and stared back in bewilderment, trying to put the pieces together in his head. What was Philip up to? He could only imagine._

_Frank leaned forward in his chair and rested his elbows atop the surface of the desk. He lowered his voice even more, until Dale was straining to hear him. "I was thinkin'—an' tell me if I'm completely off-base here—but, what if Philip is usin' some kinda __**drug money **__or somethin'? I mean, what's he __**doin'**__ with Dixon anyhow? We all know what kinda shit that guy gets into. Where's this money suddenly comin' from? And what're these two __**planning**__?"_

_Dale's stomach churned and twisted. He swallowed hard, struggling to maintain eye contact with Frank. He'd always respected this man, and he felt awful lying to him. _

_But what choice did he have?_

_If he told the truth—that Philip had used his own savings to compensate for the Dixon insurance plan—then not only would he have to admit to snooping through Philip's personal belongings, but he'd also have to face whatever repercussions came from Philip being fired and possibly prosecuted._

_And Philip knew about the Bumgardners' less than legal plan. He'd expose Dale's shameful secret in a heartbeat. Irma was an understanding and compassionate woman, but if she ever found out that Dale had put their livelihood on the line just to help a family friend, she'd never forgive him. She'd feel betrayed, and she'd have every right to feel that way. Because he'd kept it from her. He'd known she wouldn't approve. Helping her mother was one thing—she'd been incredibly uncertain about it and had tried to talk him out of it more than once, but he'd managed to convince her it was the only way. However, helping Barbara Bumgardner just because he could? On top of realizing he'd lied to her by omission, Irma would feel as though Dale were putting random townsfolk before the importance of his own wife and potential family. _

_She would surely leave him. Losing his job and his house was one thing. So was jail time. But losing the love of his life? Watching his soulmate walk away from him once and for all because he'd betrayed her trust?_

_**That**__ was the definition of Hell for Dale Horvath._

_Philip would drag Dale down with him. He'd said it himself. He'd __**promised**__ it. And he'd sounded very fucking serious._

_Dale simply couldn't take those kinds of risks. It wasn't worth it. Whatever Philip and Will were planning, he was almost certain it would fail and blow up in their faces before any malice could come from it. There was no way they'd get away with something that was so blatantly illegal. They'd pay for their stupidity._

_But until they did, he would just have to keep his mouth shut._

_It was none of his business, after all._

"_It's nothin' like that," Dale said. "Philip isn't involved with things like that. I know the plan with Dixon is sketchy, but—Philip's smarter than that. He's young. Naive. Ambitious."_

_Frank quirked a brow, suspicious. "Ambitious enough to scheme with a Dixon?"_

_Dale shook his head and scoffed convincingly. "Lord, no. You know how smoothly Will can talk people into stupid deals. Just let Philip figure it out on his own. When the plan blows up in his face and he's left with a negative balance, he'll learn his lesson. But until then, we just can't tell him nothin'... and trust me, I've __**tried**__."_

_Frank relaxed just the slightest bit and let out a deep sigh. Then he nodded. "Right. Guess I should've expected somethin' like this from an out-of-towner. And such a young kid to boot."_

_It almost made Dale feel worse to know that Frank trusted his word so much. But he had to use this to his benefit._

_Irma was depending on him and this job. Their __**future**__ was depending on him and this job._

_Dale shrugged and forced a smile. "Boys will be boys. Isn't that what they say?"_

_Frank hmphed. "Yeah. Somethin' like that." He glanced away, shaking his head. "I'm just gonna take yer word on it, Dale. Seems like yer the only one who knows __**anything**__ about that boy."_

_Yeah, Dale thought. Isn't that unfortunate._

_Beth was shoved back by an unseen force. The scene faded and darkened. The metallic doors slid shut._

_The elevator music started back up and she looked over to see the next button on the panel blinking. She reached a hand out and pressed it. The floor shifted and ascended beneath her feet._

_The digital display above the doors changed from 'AD1986D5' to 'AD1986D6.'_

_**Ding!**_

_The doors opened. The music paused. Beth gazed out at the shadowed and hazy scene for no more than a second before stepping over the threshold._

_She heard Dale's inner thoughts and an unfamiliar woman's voice. Then the silhouettes morphed into full-fledged forms. Though the hazy film remained over everything, like she was watching an old film on a projector._

_She took another step forward and found herself inside the living room of Dale and Irma's house. She recognized it from the very first floor she'd visited on this weird Elevator of The Past. Dale was sitting on the couch, a steaming mug of coffee cradled in his hands. He was leaning forward with his mouth open in shock, his eyes wide and stuck to the TV a few feet away._

_Beth realized the unfamiliar woman's voice was a news anchor speaking on television. It was the local Atlanta news. The report was about a house fire that had occurred overnight._

_A house fire in Senoia._

_Dale's hands were shaking, struggling to keep grasp of the coffee mug. He set it down on the coffee table in front of him, though his eyes were glued to the TV. His mind was racing, heart thumping like a drum inside his chest._

_One woman dead; a wife and mother. A trailer burnt to the ground. Ruled an accident—the woman was smoking in bed. Yet another tragedy. Thank God her son made it out alive. He's only eight years old. His bedroom door was locked, but he managed to slip out the window at the last minute. A little smoke inhalation, but nothing he won't recover from. The father was out at the time, drinking at a local bar. No foul play suspected. _

_What a preventable tragedy. What a terrible, reckless thing to happen to such an innocent family. In a small sleepy town like Senoia, no less. Who could've ever predicted it?_

_They couldn't release the names of the victims yet, but Dale already knew who it was. So would everyone else in town. He recognized that trailer, even though it was barely more than a pile of ash on the TV screen. As would the rest of Senoia._

_Everyone knew who the Dixons were. Everyone had driven past the shithole mobile home that Will and Leanne called home at one point or another._

_The blood had already drained from Dale's face and his extremities were turning cold._

_All he could think about was Philip Blake and that __**goddamn**__ insurance plan… _

_Beth was shoved back into the elevator._

_The music resumed and the doors slammed shut. She reached out and eagerly pressed the next blinking button on the panel. The tentacle-vines inside her body were squirming restlessly again._

_The elevator jolted and ascended to the next floor. The digital display changed from 'AD1986D6' to 'AD1986D7.'_

_**Ding!**_

_The doors slid open and the music paused. Beth stepped out into the slowly-forming memory. Shadows and muffled voices developed into a discernible setting and comprehensive words._

_It was the inside of Senoia Sanctuary Insurance. There were Halloween decorations scattered throughout the desks and partitions._

_Beth had no more than a split-second to comprehend the time frame and remember where she'd come from—wait, __**Halloween**__ decorations? There was an odd niggling at the back of her mind, something that was stored within her present-day consciousness, a bit harder to access in this particular state… Daryl had never mentioned __**when **__his mama died. Was it around Halloween time? Had the anniversary already passed in the present timeline? Was this somehow relevant?_

_The tentacle-vines squirmed uncomfortably from somewhere beneath her heart, as though they were itching to reach out and snake their way through the past. She tried to store away the memory and keep from forgetting: ask Daryl about when the fire was. Or ask Merle. Because for some reason, it feels important._

_But she was snapped back to her current focus by Dale's inner thoughts, which told her that what she was seeing was taking place mere hours since he'd watched the news report on TV. The news report that had not specifically named the Dixons, but had shown their trailer—or rather, the ashen rubble that had once been their trailer. The news report that had discreetly described the fate of poor Leanne Dixon, and the surely lifelong trauma of young Daryl Dixon._

_And now everyone in the office was whispering about it. Everyone except Dale, of course._

_They were mostly gossiping about the Dixon family's reputation, how everyone in town had always kind of expected something like this to happen eventually. But they were also lamenting about how Leanne and little Daryl didn't deserve such a thing on top of being stuck with awful old Will._

"_They was always the good half of the family," one coworker said._

"_Sure was," another coworker agreed. "Nothin' at all like that Will an' Merle. Poor things."_

"_What could we have done, though?" a third coworker piped up. "I mean, we all know this couldn'ta been no… accident."_

"_What was there to do? Ain't right to go stickin' yer nose in other folks' business," the first coworker remarked with a scoff and a sip of his coffee. "She shoulda left him years ago. Went an' got herself knocked up twice. Wasn't a soul on earth who could convince her to leave that man, I tell ya what."_

"_Yep. I'll tell ya what else ain't right," the other coworker agreed. "Is accusin' a man of settin' his own home on fire. Now that's just __**wrong**__. Say whatcha want about ol' Will, but I don't think he's the type to outright burn his family up. Not his own boy, that's fer damn sure."_

_A moment later, the chatter hadn't died down. Philip entered the office and made a beeline for his desk. No one seemed to take notice of him, though. He'd been keeping to himself more than ever over the last six months—ever since that little incident where Will had popped in, and Dale had tried one last time to help._

_And he hadn't spoken so much as a word to Dale since their heated confrontation._

_Today was no different. Philip sat down at his desk and got to work while his colleagues meandered around, sipping coffee and sharing teary-eyed whispers. _

_Dale watched him for a bit, but he wasn't acting any weirder than usual. Then he remembered that Mike and Stella had both witnessed Will Dixon making a scene all those months ago. He glanced over at them, expecting to find them side-eyeing the hell out of Philip. But they weren't. It seemed they'd already forgotten._

_Either that, or they didn't know that Philip had tried to sell an insurance plan to Will._

_Frank knew, though._

_Dale got up from his desk and strode across the room. He didn't dare glance in Philip's direction. He approached Frank's office door and knocked lightly._

"_Come in!"_

_Frank was sitting behind his desk. He looked up from the paperwork in his hand and nodded at Dale, who was shutting the door tightly behind him and taking a seat in front of the desk. He noticed Frank wasn't smiling. In fact, his face looked a little paler than usual._

"_Mornin', Frank," Dale said somberly. "Reckon ya heard the news…"_

_Frank let out a deep sigh and set his paperwork down, folding his hands atop it. "Yeah. It's a downright shame. That Leanne was always a good girl. It's too bad she got stuck with Will."_

"_Yeah. It's a shame alright," Dale muttered. _

_A shame this dinky little town and its old-fashioned people didn't offer her the resources she needed to get her and those boys out of that situation, he thought. But he'd never say that aloud. No one in Senoia would ever admit to sitting by and doing nothing when they knew they could've done __**something**__. They were too ignorant._

_In some ways, Philip was right about places like this and the people who called it home. And Dale really hated realizing that._

"_But ya know," Frank said, lowering his voice. "That's not the part that's really botherin' me… I got to thinkin', and… You remember that __**talk**__ we had a few months back? About Philip?"_

_Dale nodded. This was exactly what he'd come in here for. "'Course I do. And I was thinkin' the same thing…"_

_Frank raised his eyebrows and his frown deepened. He went a little more pale and dropped his eyes. Dale could see him swallowing thickly before he spoke. "I'd never wanna accuse nobody, but I just can't—I can't get the idea outta my head. I mean, we all know what Dixon's capable of. And this is one __**helluva**__ coincidence to jus' look past it…"_

_Dale nodded, shoulders stiffening. "No, I agree. It's too much of a coincidence." He paused, glancing at the door before leaning forward and practically whispering, "Surely they're gonna investigate it, right? Trace it back… __**here**__?"_

_Frank sighed again and shut his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. "They already did. Boys in blue work fast 'round these parts… I got a call from the lead investigator 'bout half an hour ago."_

_Dale's stomach dropped. "Christ."_

_Frank slowly lifted his head and met Dale's eyes with a tired and slightly fearful gaze. "Yeah… this ain't good."_

"_So they're gonna come question him?" Dale guessed. "Or—"_

"_Nah," Frank shook his head. "They wanna talk to __**everybody**__. Didn't even mention his name in particular."_

"_Okay," Dale said. "That makes sense—I'm sure they know. They just don't wanna tip him off or risk him gettin' scared an' leavin' town… Right?"_

_Frank scoffed, his frustration growing more evident. "Hell if I know, Dale. All I know is this ain't gonna look good fer the company. Not one damn bit. Whoever approved that plan is gonna have some __**shit**__ to answer for. And so will I, fer lettin' it get past me."_

_Dale waved a hand dismissively. "Oh, c'mon now. You did your job, you had no way of stoppin' him from goin' over your head like that."_

"_But I knew it was a bad idea, and I had my suspicions that it was borderline illegal," Frank argued. "I shoulda reported it, at the very least. They're gonna have my head fer this. Gonna make an example outta me to keep somethin' like this from ever happening again."_

"_No, they won't," Dale assured. "It's not the first time some sorta fraud like this has happened, and it won't be the last. You're not the guilty party here."_

_Frank paused, licking his lips and averting his gaze downward. Then he asked, "And you think that young man out there is? You think he's…" He lifted his head and met Dale's eyes with a look of intensity. "…__**capable**__ of plotting somethin' so… downright __**heinous**__? 'Cause you didn't sound quite so certain last time."_

_Dale froze, a knot forming in his throat._

_**Is**__ that what he thought? Was he prepared to condemn Philip Blake for __**murder**__?_

_When he didn't respond for a long moment, Frank reiterated._

"_Tell me the truth, Dale. You think that boy's got Leanne Dixon's blood on his hands?"_

_Dale swallowed past the knot and cleared his throat, resituating in his seat. He struggled to maintain eye contact, and his voice wavered a bit when he responded. But it was the only thing he could say with full confidence._

"_Here's the truth, Frank: I'm not sure __**what**__ he's capable of… And that's the part that worries me the most."_

_Before Frank could react, Beth was being shoved back out of the office and into the elevator. The doors slammed shut in front of her and the music started back up._

_She reached out and pressed the next blinking button on the panel almost frantically. The metallic lift shifted around her as she watched the display above the doors change from 'AD1986D7' to 'AD1986D8.' Then the music paused._

_**Ding!**_

_The shiny metal doors slid open and Beth stepped over the threshold as soon as she saw solid ground. The tentacle-vines had gone still within her core. Dale's inner thoughts urged her forward and the scene took shape as she entered yet another memory._

_It was the inside of the insurance office again. And it was the same day as the prior scene, but much later. The sun was setting outside the big plate-glass windows. The analog clock on the wall read 5:23. All the desks were empty. Save for one._

_Dale sat behind his desk, a pen clutched in his hand and hovering over a stack of paperwork. But his eyes were staring forward, towards the front doors, and he appeared to be zoning out. He was thinking about Philip and the insurance plan with Will Dixon, wondering why the police hadn't shown up today to interview all the employees of Senoia Sanctuary Insurance. He was questioning himself deeply because he'd watched Philip from the corner of his eye all day, and the younger man hadn't exhibited any signs of distress. In fact, he hadn't appeared fazed in the slightest. Though he'd kept his head down and avoided making eye contact with anyone, that wasn't anything new._

_Plain and simple, he hadn't acted any differently today. Which was making Dale question his own suspicions. Had he been wrong after all? Were his assumptions completely misplaced? Was Philip actually innocent?_

_He could only hope._

_With a tired sigh and the thought of Irma's lasagna urging him on, he scrawled one last signature on the paper before him and set it aside. He packed up all his things and organized his desk for the next morning, then he shut off the lights and headed out the front doors, locking up behind him._

_The sun was sinking quicker and quicker. By the time he made it to the parking lot, the sky was orange-violet with a dozen twinkling stars coming to life. A veil of dark clouds had hovered overhead all day, and they remained even now, casting a grayish glow over everything in sight and threatening rain. The streetlights had come on, barely breaking through the haze that clung to the sidewalk and the trees._

_Dale was lost in his own head as he approached his car, parked in its usual spot at the edge of the parking lot closest to the side of the insurance building. A particularly shady spot, cloaked in shadows cast from streetlights and the setting sun. He stuck his key into the lock on the door handle, thinking about Irma and the Dixons and that poor little Daryl. But before he could turn the key, he heard a low and menacing voice speaking from just behind him._

"_I think we need to have a talk, Dale."_

_He froze, hand still wrapped around his keyring. He recognized the voice immediately._

_Philip._

_Dale turned around just in time to see Philip taking a step closer, a shadow spilling across his face and giving his azure eyes an ominous glow. He stopped less than an arm's reach away with his hands behind his back. His thin lips were set in a hard line._

_Where the hell had he come from? His car was nowhere in sight and he'd seemingly appeared from the shadows. Had he been waiting to get Dale alone with no witnesses?_

"_About what?" Dale retorted. "We're not friends, Philip. I've said all I need to say to you."_

_Philip narrowed his eyes. "Well, I haven't said all I need to say to __**you**__."_

_Dale straightened his back and stared up at the younger man, unflinching. "Whatever you've got to say is null an' void by now. I know what kinda man you are. You've shown me—hell, you've shown __**all**__ of Senoia."_

_Rage flashed across Philip's face and his azure eyes flickered to jade. "That's what we need to talk about. I'm __**innocent**__. When the cops come sniffin' around tomorrow, they're gonna find themselves at a dead end."_

_He stated it like it was a predetermined fact. Which made Dale's blood boil._

_His jaw stiffened and he argued, "And what makes ya think that? I know about the insurance plan you sold Will. So does Frank. You went over his head and got it approved against __**both **__our better judgments. We know the Dixons didn't have near enough money to cover those numbers. There's no __**way**__ yer gonna get away with this—"_

_Philip took a rapid step forward and invaded Dale's personal space, looming over him and glaring down with barely-contained lividity. His voice was lower, more menacing and laced with bare threat. "Yeah, you an' Frank are real good __**buddies**__, aren't ya? It'd be a damn __**shame**__ if he found out you swindled his precious company outta money just to ensure your dying mother-in-law could have a few last-ditch treatments and a decent funeral."_

_Dale's mouth snapped shut. The blood went cold inside his veins. _

_How did Philip know about that? Of course he'd known about the Bumgardners, but the numbers Dale had fudged to ensure his mother-in-law wouldn't die in debt had been taken care of before Philip even moved to Senoia._

_His confusion must've been obvious on his face, because Philip smirked and drawled, "Yeah. I know. I did a little __**research**__… You're not the dutiful, God-fearing, by-the-book employee that you've got everybody __**convinced**__ you are. Ain't that right, Horvath?"_

_Dale swallowed hard, mustering up every last ounce of courage he'd ever possessed. "And you're not in your right mind, Blake. I did some research, too. I know a helluva lot more than you __**think**__ I know—the meds, the parasites, the paranoia and delusions." He shook his head and scoffed. "You need some serious __**help**__, Philip. I'm a proponent for rehabilitation over incarceration, but maybe gettin' locked up would do you some __**good**__."_

_He barely had time to comprehend the look of rage that filled Philip's face before he found himself being shoved back against his own car. Philip's hand was wrapped around his throat and squeezing._

"_Now you listen here, you __**fucking**__ hillbilly," Philip growled, his face inches away from Dale's and his hand tightening around the older man's throat, making him gasp for breath. "I'm __**not**__ going to jail. And if I am, __**you're**__ coming with me. I meant what I fucking said six months ago—if you so much as __**breathe**__ a hint of my name to the police, I. will. __**gut.**__ you."_

_Dale grasped Philip's wrist with both hands, desperately trying to pull it away from his throat while gasping for air. But the younger man was so much stronger than he looked. And dammit, Dale had never been very physically strong to begin with. _

_Within a split-second, he realized… Philip could strangle him to death right here. And he'd probably get away with it._

_Or he could expose every single dirty little secret Dale had ever held and essentially kill him without stopping his heart. Strip away his job, ruin his marriage, soil his reputation, pull the rug out from under his feet._

_He was helpless. He was at Philip's mercy._

_God save him._

"_Let—me—__**go**__," Dale choked out, scratching at Philip's wrist._

_But Philip tightened his grip and leaned in closer, until Dale could feel his hot breath on his face. "I could __**kill**__ you right here—you know that, right? You realize I hold your entire __**life**__ in my hands?"_

_Dale's eyes were bulging out of his skull and his face was turning blue, vision growing spotty. He clawed desperately at the younger man's wrist, struggling to pry it from his throat. In a last-ditch effort, he nodded. _

_And just like that, Philip let go. He took a half-step back and Dale's feet fell flat against the pavement. He grasped at his own throat, gasping in lungfuls of air, shoulders slumping with both exhaustion and defeat. He regained his composure and looked up at Philip with fear._

_This man was capable of so much more than Dale could've ever imagined. Jesus Christ, how did he misinterpret everything so badly? Had he made a dire mistake by underestimating this guy? How the hell was he supposed to know that Philip was so fucking off the hinges?_

_And to think Dale had tried to __**help**__ him…_

_Philip smirked. But that wasn't what made Dale nauseous; it was the look of completely smug satisfaction on his face that made Dale's stomach turn and plummet. Like Philip had gotten __**exactly**__ what he wanted._

_Which… he probably had._

_Dale was still struggling to catch his breath and slow his racing heart when Philip drawled, "You've got a lot at stake here, Dale Horvath. And if you don't wanna lose __**everything**__ you've worked all these years to obtain… I suggest you forget anything you __**think**__ you know about me. Use that charming personality you've got to win over our coworkers. Reassure that dimwitted boss of ours of my ignorance in the whole situation. Tell the cops I'm innocent. Ya know—straight from the horse's mouth an' all that."_

_He let out a cold chuckle. A shiver ran down Dale's spine and his stomach churned. _

_Regardless, he retained his dignity. He'd never been one to back down from a threat. He narrowed his eyes, glaring up at Philip. "And if I don't?"_

_Philip quirked a brow, appearing genuinely amused. It only served to make Dale's spine stiffen in defense._

"_**Don't**__ is not an option," Philip said flatly. "Either you'll cooperate and keep this quiet little life you've worked so hard for… or you'll __**suffer**__."_

_Dale cleared his throat, still trying to recover from the pain of a hand clutched around his neck. "I'd rather lose my job than sit by an' let you get away with __**murder**__."_

_Philip smirked. He put his hands behind his back again and hmphed in mock amusement. "But it won't be __**just**__ your job that you lose, will it?"_

_Dale's face went pale._

_Philip's smirk turned into a smile. "No, it won't. It'll be that precious wife of yours that you can't seem to knock up. It'll be that shitty little house you're scrimpin' and savin' to pay off. It'll be this shithole town that you love so goddamn much. It'll be every __**fucking**__ person you've ever known looking at you like they don't __**recognize**__ you." He barked out a laugh. "And that's even __**worse**__ than death for people like __**you**__… isn't it, Dale?"_

_Fucking hell._

_As much as Dale didn't want to admit it… Philip was right. He had him pegged to a T. There was no escaping this particular type of hell. Not when he'd allowed such an evil person to know him on such a personal level. Not when he'd allowed someone with such a thirst for power to have so much power over __**him**__._

_What the fuck had he been thinking, getting close to someone like this? Someone he barely __**knew**__?_

_And now he was paying for it. He was suffering because he'd wanted to help._

_When the hell would he learn to mind his own business?_

_Nevertheless, Dale couldn't smother his own defiance. He mustered up his remaining strength and glared back at the younger man with disgust. "How can you __**sleep**__ at night? Knowing you killed a woman? Knowin' you nearly killed an eight-year-old __**boy**__? How can you look at yourself in the mirror without wanting to __**vomit**__ at the mere __**sight**__?"_

_Philip's jaw twitched and his eyes flashed from jade to azure and back again. He let out a low growl from his throat, almost animalistic. But his smirk remained._

"_Ain't nothin' more than natural selection. Weedin' out the weak makes for a better world. Some of us—" he barked out a laugh, flat and emotionless yet cold all the same "—well, some of us are just __**born**__ to step on the heads of the unworthy. How __**else**__ are we supposed to climb our way up?"_

_Dale's heart plummeted to his feet._

_How had it taken him this long to realize that Philip was so fucking far gone?_

"_Jesus Christ," he whispered out on a shaky breath, staring up at Philip with a mixture of disbelief and abhorrence. "You're a million times worse than Will Dixon could ever __**hope**__ to be. Just when I thought I'd seen it all…"_

_Philip barked out another laugh, shaking his head and smiling like Dale had told a joke. "The best part is that you think it was __**Will's**__ idea. As if that inbred fucking moron could come up with such a brilliant scheme." He laughed again. "This whole town is full of unsuspecting, simple folks like you. Like __**Will**__. Hell, let's be honest—he would've killed Leanne whether I gave him the payout or not. Just so happens I managed to make the act worth our time."_

_Dale swallowed thickly and realized his hands were trembling. "You're evil, Philip Blake. Pure __**evil**__."_

_Philip closed the distance between them, nostrils flaring and blue-green eyes narrowed. His voice was close to a hiss as he said, "You think you're the first person to tell me that?" His mouth ticked to the side in dissatisfaction. "You're __**simple**__, Dale Horvath. Just like everyone in this godforsaken little town. You've no __**idea**__ how to deal with people like __**me**__."_

_Dale prepared for another hand around his throat, but it didn't come. He stared up at the other man with unabashed terror._

"_One day," Philip drawled, smirking. "You might just find yourself __**bowing**__ at my feet. And I hope you remember where you __**came**__ from… Because __**I**__ certainly will."_

_Dale blinked dumbly, mouth agape and at a loss for words._

_Philip huffed out a breath and shook his head, taking a half-step back with his hands still behind his back. "I'd hate to throw you under the bus so violently. I know you only mean well, Dale." He shrugged indifferently. "But a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do."_

_Dale exhaled through his nose, eyes widening. His voice took on a pleading tone as he said, "No, you don't, Philip. You __**never**__ had to do this. You're delusional. You're just sick. You need __**help**__, you—"_

"_Shut the __**fuck**__ up," Philip snapped, cutting him off abruptly. The younger man's mouth turned downwards in a scowl and he glanced away, his whole body going rigid with anger. "Call me sick and delusional one more time… You'll regret __**ever**__ fucking crossing The Governor like that."_

_Dale's heart thumped against his ribcage and he swallowed back a retort. His fear was taking control now, rendering him silent._

_Not silent enough, though._

"_**The Governor**__?" He repeated, no louder than a whisper. "Like those kids used to call you?"_

_Philip narrowed his eyes and Dale tensed, prepared for some sort of backlash._

_However, Philip merely smiled. Then he tilted his gaze skyward with something like wistfulness in his expression. He chuckled softly._

"_Yeah," he muttered. "Like those kids used to call me… But __**better**__."_

_He lowered his gaze to meet Dale's once more. It sent an icy chill through Dale's bones. _

"_What the hell am I supposed to say that would exonerate you from somethin' so damn obvious?" Dale asked. "You can't possibly expect me to convince the whole town you're __**innocent**__ when it's so clear you're __**not**__."_

_Philip rolled his eyes. "Just spout the same shit you've been spoutin' fer the last two years. Whatever keeps you outta hot water. Ain't like you don't know how to hit these people where it hurts."_

_Dale nodded in understanding, though he hated himself for it._

_Is this who he'd become? The man who was willing to cover up literal __**murder**__ just to save his own family and livelihood?_

_He'd always thought of himself as the type of man who'd do what was right when it was necessary, even if it meant costing his own reputation in the process. He prided himself on being the one who stood up against injustice and spoke out even when it made others uncomfortable. But now that he was being threatened with everything he'd ever worked to achieve—now that he was standing on the precipice of his own marriage and his own career and the house he was still paying off and the reputation he'd spent literal decades building…_

_Well, it just wasn't that easy, was it? Maybe that made him a self-serving piece of shit. But he wasn't willing to sacrifice the woman he loved and the career he'd worked towards for someone who was already dead._

_Because Leanne Dixon was already dead. There was nothing he could do about that. Her youngest son had survived and maybe that was enough. Or maybe it wasn't. But at the end of the day… it was none of Dale's business. It didn't affect him or his family. _

_The only thing that mattered was maintaining the stability he'd worked so hard to achieve. The stability that Irma relied on so much._

_No, Dale had never been one to sit by and do nothing when he knew he could've done something. But when that something meant risking everything he'd ever loved, when it meant letting his wife down… shit. Maybe it just wasn't worth it, after all._

_Maybe it was about doing what he could and keeping his mouth shut when he couldn't do anything else._

_It wasn't like he didn't know how small towns operated. He'd essentially been "looking the other way" for his entire life. How was this any different?_

"_Fine," he croaked out, hanging his head in shame and refusing to meet Philip's gaze. One hand still clutched loosely at his throat, rubbing what would surely be a bruise. "You keep my secret… I'll keep yours."_

_He wanted to retch as soon as the words escaped his mouth. What kind of person was he? Who had he let himself become?_

_Had he ever __**really**__ known?_

_He could hear the smirk on Philip's lips as the younger man drawled out, "Now that's what I like to hear." He chuckled and took a half-step back, giving Dale some breathing room. "I've got an alibi: you an' I were hanging out together. I was nowhere near any of the Dixons when that tragic fire started. And you an' I have shared enough lunches for you to know I would __**never**__ be involved in such a thing—I simply didn't know what Will Dixon was plannin'. Why, I was none the wiser. Just a young, ambitious guy who was eager for a new client. If I'd had any idea of Will's nefarious intentions, I __**surely**__ would've walked away."_

_Dale slowly raised his head and looked up at Philip, who was glaring back menacingly. _

"_Got it?" Philip asked, lifting his eyebrows in a look of expectancy._

_Dale nodded. His voice was still hoarse as he asked, "And what were we doin' together, exactly?"_

_Philip shrugged all too casually. "Havin' dinner with your lovely wife. Watchin' the game on that nice color TV inside your quiet little living room. You know… __**friend**__ stuff."_

_Dale cleared his throat and nodded again, though much weaker this time. "Alright... "_

_Philip raised his eyebrows again. "And Frank? The others?"_

"_I'll tell 'em," Dale assured. "I'll make sure they all know… we were together… you had no idea."_

_Philip's smirk widened into a grin. He reached out and Dale winced, but he simply clapped a hand on Dale's shoulder and chuckled. "See how good things can be when ya just cooperate, Dale?"_

_Dale stared up at the younger man with wide, fearful eyes. He couldn't bring himself to nod._

_He didn't recognize the man standing before him. This was not the Philip Blake he'd thought he knew. This was not someone's son, someone's brother, someone's… anything._

_This was someone else entirely. Someone barely human, because humans felt empathy and shame and guilt, and this man didn't seem to be familiar with __**any**__ of those emotions. Dale felt as though he were staring up into the eyes of Satan Himself. But it wasn't Satan, was it?_

_No. It was The Governor._

_Philip's hand squeezed his shoulder a little harder than was necessary, his grin remaining like a macabre mockery of true happiness. "I guess you were right after all, huh? I just needed a __**good friend**__."_

_Could Philip feel Dale trembling beneath his grasp?_

_Yes. He most definitely could. And it only seemed to please him more._

**to be continued…**

* * *

**A/N: **This fic is now a podfic in progress! Check it out on AO3 for the link to listen :)


	56. Retrospection is a Bummer

**Retrospection is a Bummer**

_Beth was watching with bated breath, abruptly ripped from the scene playing out before her by the unseen force shoving her back. Everything faded away and the metallic doors slid shut in front of her as she stumbled to regain her balance inside the elevator._

_She was still shaken from what she'd seen, and jarred from being torn away so quickly, but also from the realization that was passing over her: __**Dale**__ had been Philip Blake's alibi._

_Philip had __**blackmailed**__ Dale. He'd held the only things that mattered over the older man's head and __**forced**__ him to cross his own moral boundaries._

_No wonder Dale was so damn ashamed. No wonder he refused to speak of it. He just wanted to forget it had ever happened._

_But as Beth knew all too well… he couldn't. And he never would. He still recalled every single detail._

_She could only imagine how it must've kept him up at night all these years. How heavily it must've weighed on his conscience for the last three decades._

_She couldn't imagine for too long, though. It seemed that even the briefest moment of empathy and retrospection had left her vulnerable for something else._

_The elevator shook around her and shot upward. Beth lost her balance from the force and crumpled to the ground. The classical music sped up to such a pace that it sounded otherworldly. She looked up and saw the panel of buttons flickering and flashing, the '333' button at the top blinking bright red. The digital display above the doors was running through all different assortments of letters and numbers, as though it were malfunctioning._

'_No. Can't let yourself get caught off-guard,' she reminded herself. She wanted to panic, but as soon as the fear began to well up inside her, she shoved it back down. The tentacle-vines writhed and squirmed within her core, and it felt like they were somehow devouring all of her fear. 'Remain diligent. Intent. Purpose. Control. Remember who you are.'_

_She stood to her feet and reached out, struggling to retain her balance while leaning against the cold metal, and pressed the next button on the panel purposefully._

_All the while, she was repeatedly thinking: 'Philip Blake. Dale Horvath. The Governor. The Governor. The Governor.'_

_The elevator slowed and came to a halt. The '333' button stopped flashing and went dark. The digital display above the doors returned to normal and showed 'AD1986D9.' The music resumed its normal pace for no more than a second before the doors slid open._

_**Ding!**_

_The music stopped and Beth stepped over the threshold. Shadowed shapes began to form and the familiar sound of Dale's inner thoughts urged her forward. She took another step, exiting the elevator entirely._

_She found herself inside Senoia Sanctuary Insurance once again. The Halloween decorations were still up. It was the day after the previous memory. Philip was here._

_And so were the police._

_It hadn't been terribly difficult to convince everyone in the office that Philip was innocent. They all trusted Dale. They'd grown fond of him, and over half of them had known him well before working with him here at the insurance company—whether through church or school or just from being neighbors. So it was simply a matter of putting on his most convincing face and lying through his teeth. To the people he'd known for most of his life. To the folks he'd grown up with. To everyone who trusted him and respected him._

_The whole experience had made him sick to his stomach, but he kept reminding himself that Irma depended on him. And he'd already practiced these lies with her the night before. He figured he'd better explain why the police were showing up to his work and interviewing him and all of his colleagues before word got back to her through someone else._

_Lying to his coworkers was nowhere near as painful as lying to his wife. It was one hell of a challenge to look the love of his life in the face and be blatantly deceitful, and telling himself that it was somehow for her benefit was a whole other obstacle. He wanted nothing more than to pour his heart out and confess to how awful and cowardly he'd been._

_But no one else knew what Philip Blake was truly capable of. How much malice he held in his heart. Irma would never understand. __**None**__ of them would._

_Once he'd convinced Irma that he was telling the truth and that Philip was nothing more than a naively ambitious young man with no knowledge of the Senoia locals, he knew he'd be able to convince Frank. That was his next real challenge._

_And just as he'd expected, Frank had been hesitant. Unsure. Doubtful. Especially after the last conversation they'd had pertaining to Philip. He'd eyeballed Dale in a way that Dale had never expected his boss to eyeball him. For a moment, he was pretty sure Frank would flat-out refuse to believe him._

_He didn't, though. After ten or fifteen minutes of explanations and little white lies, Dale had brought Frank over to the side of "reason" and "logic." Hesitantly, Frank agreed._

_Although Dale knew… Frank would take any reason he could get to claim ignorance of the whole situation. He had just as much at stake here. And Dale was pretty sure that Frank didn't have a moral compass that was quite as strong as his own. He wasn't the type to feel bad about "looking the other way," so long as it meant saving his own ass. So it was just a case of playing on Frank's better interests. Giving him a believable alibi._

_Jesus. Dale had truly lost himself, hadn't he?_

_He couldn't ruminate on that right now, though. The police had shown up a little over an hour after everyone arrived for work—just minutes after Dale had finished convincing his colleagues of Philip's innocence—and now they were pulling people into Frank's office one by one, interviewing them for five to ten minutes at a time. They spent a little longer with Mike and Stella and, obviously, Frank. _

_Then came Dale's turn. Seventeen long and torturous minutes of sitting inside a small room with four very intimidating law enforcement officials, answering questions and trying not to trip over his own words. He sweated profusely and laughed nervously a few too many times. He got some suspicious side-eyes from a couple of the officers, and though he tried to get a peek of what the interviewing officer was jotting down in his little notepad, Dale couldn't figure out if they actually believed him or not._

_When he stepped out of the office, all eyes were on him. He returned to his desk with a queasy stomach and a pale face. He glanced over at Philip, but the younger man was sitting and staring at a wall, completely emotionless. _

_A short while later, Philip was taken away with the officers to be interviewed at the Sheriff's Department. And as soon as the cop cars were pulling away down the street, everyone in the office erupted into nervous and excited chatter._

_But Dale remained at his desk, pale-faced and shaken. Nauseous. Trembling from his head to his toes. _

_Would Philip return? Or would he be locked away? Was it only a matter of time before the police showed up to put Dale in cuffs and drive him to the Sheriff's Department, as well? Would he be getting a cell right next to The Governor's?_

_He went to the restroom and vomited as quietly as he could. Then he cleaned up and splashed some water on his face. By the time he stepped back out, Frank was standing at the front of the room and calmly telling everyone that they could all call it an early day if they so pleased—due to the "emotional turmoil" they'd experienced over the last two hours. Of course, everyone took him up on the offer. They were all too eager to rush home and gossip with their friends and partners about the unfolding investigation and their personal parts in the whole debacle._

_However, Dale remained at his desk for well over an hour after everyone left. Frank was the last one to leave. He didn't even glance back when he muttered for Dale to "turn the lights off and lock up whenever you finally go home."_

_Dale couldn't seem to stand up. He could barely comprehend Frank's parting words. He sat in his chair and stared down in a blank fog for what felt like hours._

_The sun rose high into the sky and shone down with high noon brightness, and still, he didn't move. For the first time in his life, he dreaded going home._

_He wasn't sure he'd ever be able to face Irma again. Or himself._

_Would Philip really get away with this? Would Will Dixon get away with murdering his own wife and trying to murder his youngest child? Would Leanne ever get the justice she deserved? Would little Daryl make it to adulthood when his only living parent so clearly wanted him dead? And what about when Merle inevitably came home and found out what happened?_

_What had Dale __**done**__…?_

_He finally rose from his seat on unsteady feet and, in a numb haze, strode across the aisle to Philip's desk. He crouched down and opened the bottom drawer, pulling out stacks of paperwork and pastel-colored folders._

_But there was nothing at the bottom. No hardback journal. No little black book. _

_He opened the other two drawers of the desk and shuffled through them, searching for Philip's darkly incriminating diary. But no such luck. _

_It was gone. Probably at home, stored away in one of those numerous boxes he kept. Or burned—just like Leanne's body. Just in case._

_Dale sat on the floor, surrounded by Philip Blake's paperwork and color-coordinated files, for several minutes. And though he kept asking God __**why**__ he would be tested like this… he got no response._

_Not even a fucking hint._

"_The Lord works in mysterious ways," Dale mumbled out to an empty office. Then he scoffed. "If you're up there, Ma… I think you mighta been full of __**shit**__."_

_The scene began to fade away and Beth took a step back before the unseen force could shove her into the elevator. It was less jarring this time due to her willingness to leave, and she didn't stumble as the doors slid shut and the elevator music resumed around her._

_She looked over to see the panel of buttons mostly lit up. All but three of the buttons had been pressed and visited. The next one in the sequence was blinking at her, and she reached out and pressed it. _

_The lift shifted and ascended. The display over the doors changed from 'AD1986D9' to 'AD1997D1.'_

_The elevator stopped. The music paused. A loud __**ding! **__rang out around her. The doors opened._

_Beth stepped forward and watched the silhouettes take form, colors filling the darkness like bright paint being poured upon a black canvas. The film-like haze remained over everything. Dale's inner thoughts called out to her._

_She emerged from the elevator and found herself inside Senoia Sanctuary Insurance. Except it was vastly different this time. _

_The desks were newer, and they all had computers. Big, bulky machines that Beth had only ever seen in photos. The partitions were smaller. All but maybe four of the employees were different. Even the carpeting and wallpaper had been redone. Stella's desk was occupied by someone new, but Mike was still there, though he'd aged by ten years. And there were holiday decorations scattered around—they were much more discreet than previous memories, like tiny cut-out American flags pasted on the walls and several American flag-themed knick-knacks sitting upon the desks, but nothing too prominent. Everyone was dressed in summer clothing, and the general fashion and hairstyles were very mid-90s chic. _

_The one thing that had remained the same was where Dale and Philip sat. Their desks were still merely ten feet apart, barely different from the previous memories besides the computers that now occupied their workspaces. And the two men looked older, but not much. Dale's hairline was receding more prominently, finally showing hints of gray, and Philip was just beginning to show signs of aging around his mouth and eyes._

_Dale was watching the younger man from his periphery. Philip was packing up a small cardboard box with all the things he'd kept in his drawers. The analog clock on the wall ticked down to 5:00. Everyone else was working or chatting amongst their own small groups. No one seemed to be taking notice of Philip or Dale._

_Then it was five and like clockwork, Frank emerged from his office to announce the end of the workday. Everyone packed up and bid their goodbyes. But Dale remained in his seat, pretending to work diligently while he kept a discreet eye on Philip._

_A few minutes later, two of the newer coworkers had stopped to cordially shake Philip's hand and wish him well on his future endeavors. The third and final person was Frank, who shook Philip's hand a little stiffer than usual and gave an obviously forced smile. For the sake of professionalism, Dale knew. Because Frank hadn't looked at Philip the same in over a decade._

_Nor had he looked at Dale the same._

_Everyone else filtered out quietly or in small groups, and Philip trailed out a moment after the last person had exited. He carried a single cardboard box in his arms, filled with everything that had been inside or atop his desk. And he didn't shoot Dale so much as a parting glance as the door fell shut behind him. _

_Dale stayed behind for several minutes. He stared over at Philip's empty desk, asking himself if this was really the end. Wondering how long it would take for him to finally forget that Philip Blake had existed. Questioning whether the next person to fill that desk would be a decent human being or… just another monster._

_That's what Philip Blake was. He was not a man. He was a monster. He was Satan Incarnate._

_Ten years… For ten __**years**__, Dale had kept quiet._

_To be fair though, so had Philip. He'd become more reclusive than ever in the years following the Dixon fire. Everyone in town gave him odd looks and generally avoided him once the investigation concluded so abruptly and all the rumors started. And that didn't change for quite a while. Not even when Will Dixon disappeared. The memory remained for everyone. All of Senoia knew how Leanne Dixon had __**really **__died. They all knew about the mysterious insurance plan behind the whole thing, all the sketchy circumstances that led directly back to Will and Philip. Word had gotten around and no one wanted anything to do with a possible murderer._

_Nonetheless, Will and Philip had gotten away with it. Philip's alibi was so solid that he didn't even get booked into custody. Will spent a couple nights in jail, but never actually went to trial due to a lack of sufficient evidence. Everything that could've put those men in prison had been burned up. Destroyed. There were too many legal loopholes for them to happily weave through._

_The last time Will Dixon had been spotted anywhere around Senoia was a few weeks after the fire. And then it was like he'd never existed. His young son was pulled out of school and never seen again. Everyone had their theories, sharing rumors and tall tales here and there. The most likely was that Will had gone off-the-grid. Those who drank with him down at The Dirty Penny knew that he'd always dreamt of moving out to the holler and bootlegging his own moonshine, living off the land and whatnot. And he'd always been notorious for illegally hunting and fishing, among other things. Law enforcement didn't try very hard to track him down for truancy after he and Daryl disappeared. There was way too much Georgia countryside to scour just for one kid, and they had more important things to spend their funding on._

_And then it was almost like it had never happened. People seemed to forget. The employees of Senoia Sanctuary Insurance gradually changed, and eventually, the only people left who knew about the Dixon fire investigation and Philip's odd involvement were Dale, Frank, and Mike. And they sure as hell didn't talk about it anymore. Not even amongst each other. No one in Senoia did. It was too damn sad to remember._

_However, Philip kept to himself. He never stayed a moment past quitting time, never spoke to his colleagues unless it was directly work related, never responded to invitations for gatherings or social events, never so much as made eye contact with anyone. No one knew what he did in his off time because they never saw him around town. By the time ten years had passed, there was only a small handful of employees who still attempted to speak to Philip. And they were all young or from out of town. None of them knew a damn thing about the part he'd played in a woman's death. _

_In the past year or so, Dale had caught wind that Merle Dixon was done with his time in the Service and back in town. Rumor had it, he'd been spotted running around with a teenaged Daryl. Causing trouble, of course. Possibly selling drugs and bootleg moonshine. Dale wasn't sure how true it was, but a part of him felt relieved. At least little Daryl had survived to adulthood. At least he had his big brother to rely on, who'd miraculously survived two or three Tours overseas. And if Merle hadn't come for Philip's head yet, then that must've meant Will was either dead or irrelevant. Those boys must've finally slipped out from beneath the boot of their mean old daddy._

_That didn't bring Leanne back, though. That didn't erase the lifelong trauma Daryl surely suffered._

_Yet for ten years—a full __**decade**__—Dale had lied to himself. He'd lied to his wife, and lied to everyone he knew._

_For ten years, he'd been wishing that he would wake up from this nightmare._

_He just wanted to go to work and not have to look at Philip Blake's face. He just wanted to forget that The Governor ever existed, that he ever __**could**__ exist. Dale wanted his life back. He wanted his peaceful sleep and his clear conscience and his self-certainty that he was a good person._

_But Philip Blake had __**stolen**__ that from him. And he'd continued stealing it for the last ten years._

_Yet now… he was finally gone._

_Philip had decided to leave Senoia. According to Frank, Philip had put in his two-week notice because he landed a better-paying insurance job in Fayetteville. It wasn't associated with Senoia Sanctuary Insurance, so it was like a clean slate for the young man. He was picking up and moving there and everything. Less than 20 miles away, sure. But it was still a whole new town._

_This meant Dale could finally move on. Right? This was it. He'd made it. Maybe not with his dignity, but with his livelihood and his soulmate and the house he was still paying off. And he wasn't locked up in some cold, dark cell. So that had to count for something… right?_

_Philip was going to be someone else's problem. If he ever hurt anyone again, it wouldn't be someone Dale knew or cared about. And that was kinda the whole point… wasn't it?_

_But Dale's stomach was churning. And even though Philip Blake's desk was empty, it still felt like he was there. Like he would __**always**__ be there._

_How could Dale ever escape the mortal grasp of The Governor?_

_He wouldn't, he decided. He would go to his grave with this secret locked away tightly within his chest. He would suffer for all of eternity for the part he took in Leanne Dixon's death. He wasn't even the one who had to pay the consequences; it was her innocent children. Merle and Daryl. The boys who suffered at Will's hand. The boys who Dale essentially sacrificed for the sake of his own well-being._

_How would he ever atone for these sins?_

_He wouldn't. He would simply have to keep it to himself. Hide it away and try to forget it like the shameful memory that it was._

_Philip Blake was nothing more than a memory, after all. A bad dream. The Governor wasn't real. Just another delusion created by a sad and lonely young man._

_Dale would forget this. And eventually, he would even forgive Philip. As was the Christian thing to do._

_But would Dale ever forgive __**himself**__?_

_No. He already knew. That was impossible._

_Several minutes later, he packed up his things and left the office, locking the door tightly behind him. He strolled down the sidewalk to the parking lot, approaching his car with a blank look and a foggy haze clouding his mind. _

_He didn't notice the note waiting for him until he'd already sat down. It was the crinkling of the paper beneath his bottom that got his attention. He reached down and pulled out a piece of folded-up paper. It seemed to have been slipped through the tiny crack of his driver's side window, landing in the driver's seat._

_Somehow, he already knew who it was from._

_He glanced around warily first, assuring himself that he was alone in the parking lot. There were no other cars in sight and definitely no people. But he'd been caught off-guard before._

_Dale tossed the paper aside and started up his car, pulling out of the parking lot and speeding away much faster than usual. He kept glancing in his rearview mirror and eyeballing the other vehicles on the road._

_Yet he made it all the way to his driveway without any incidents. And only then did he dare to shut off his headlights and pick up the paper._

_With trembling hands, he unfolded it and read the note. It was scrawled in a terrifyingly familiar handwriting that he'd only seen once before… inside of a certain hardback journal._

"_Erase me from your memory.  
I will do the same._

_Speak my name and I will appear._

_You are not an island._

—_The Governor"_

_Dale stood on his front lawn and burned the note with the lighter from his glove compartment. Then he left the ashes in the grass and retreated inside to spend a peaceful evening with his wife._

_Beth was shoved back into the elevator as the sight of Dale's house in 1997 faded away. The shiny metal doors slid shut before her and the elevator music started up again._

_The buttons on the panel were no longer blinking. But there were still two buttons left to press. She couldn't contain her curiosity. She reached out and pressed the next button in the sequence, preparing herself right before the metallic lift shifted and ascended beneath her feet._

_Had Dale heard about the incident that finally sent Philip to prison? And if he had, what were his thoughts on the matter? Was it possible that he had any idea who Caesar Martinez was? She wanted to know, even if it was irrelevant to the rest of her journey. She'd become so damn caught up in this dramatic sequence of memories and how she was miraculously Gifted with seeing it all through Dale's own eyes._

_But when the elevator music stopped and the loud __**ding! **__rang out around her and the doors opened, she glanced up just in time to see that the digital display had changed to 'AD2013D6.' She chose to view it optimistically and stepped forward without hesitation._

_The silhouettes and blurry forms took shape, slow and gradual. Dale's inner thoughts were harder to hear, more mumbled whispers than discernible statements. Beth took another step forward, then another one. Until she was looking around and realizing that she was inside Dale and Irma's bedroom._

_Irma was lying in the big king-sized bed, a light blanket over her tiny form. She was old. And so was Dale; he was at her side, sitting in a chair scooted up close to the bed, leaning over and grasping his wife's dainty hand between both of his. The Horvaths had white-gray hair and prominent signs of aging, though Irma looked much older. But that was because she was sick._

_Beth recognized it immediately: Irma was on her deathbed. _

_Yet for some reason, Beth couldn't tear her eyes away from the scene playing out before her. Even though she already knew how it ended. She'd been invited to the funeral, after all._

_Irma was obviously delirious. Dale clutched her hand and wept silently at her side, trying and failing to put on a brave face for what he knew were his soulmate's last moments on earth. She was pale and almost ghostly, withered down to barely more than loose skin hanging over frail bones. She wasn't very present outside of her delusional state, rapidly drifting in and out of consciousness. _

_Beth felt the heaviness inside her chest just from looking at Irma. The sight was all too similar to how Annette had looked in her final days._

_There was no one else. There was a dim lamp lit and the curtains were drawn, yet the moonlight peeked through, bright and invasive. The room was silent and empty save for Irma's labored breathing and Dale's stifled sobs. Tears poured down his cheeks silently. His lower lip trembled, but he kept his hands steady around his wife's._

'_No,' Beth thought. 'I shouldn't be here. This is private.'_

_Yet she couldn't seem to force her feet to step away._

_Dale sniffled and leaned in close to plant a gentle kiss on Irma's cheek. Her eyelids fluttered and she smiled weakly, gazing at him as though she might recognize him for a moment. She squeezed his hand and he squeezed back._

_He'd already professed his eternal, undying love a thousand times over. As well as all of his regrets and apologies. But there was still something he hadn't confessed. And he simply couldn't live with himself if he didn't come clean. Even if it was on her deathbed._

"_My love, I'm a bad man," he wept, clutching her hand between his and leaning farther over the bed to hang his head in shame. "I lied to you for years. I helped an evil person get away with evil things… I didn't tell you the whole truth. I'll never forgive myself, but I wish __**you**__ could forgive me…"_

_Irma let out a soft chuckle, which startled Dale to lift his head and look at her with confusion. When he met her eyes, he saw the woman he loved._

_Completely present. Completely aware._

_But for how long this time?_

_She smiled and spoke hoarsely, her throat dry and cracked, "Dale, I already knew. You helped Barb…" She paused and turned her head to cough, but her smile remained. "She needed it. She an' that boy of hers… they needed someone like you… the man I married." Her smile grew wider. Almost wistful._

_Dale's stomach churned and he clutched her hand a little harder. "No, honey… I did… so much worse. And I kept it from you. Like the coward I am. I was so terrified to lose you…"_

_Irma shook her head. Very weakly, but a shake all the same. Then she croaked out, "You tried to help that Philip boy. But I knew what really happened, baby. You've never been a very good liar." She smiled, chuckling softly, and went on, "I know… You just wanted to __**help**__. A coward wouldn't have tried. But not even a saint like you could save a lost soul like his. And sometimes, darlin'… that's just how the game plays out."_

_Dale looked at Irma with wide eyes, his bottom lip trembling even more. Tears continued to pour down his face. "Irma, honey… I wanted to tell you so badly, but I—"_

_He stopped when he felt her squeeze his hand. Then she smiled again. _

"_Dale Horvath… you're a __**good man**__. Nothin' in this cruel world could ever change that. And that's why I love you. That's why I'll __**always **__love you."_

_Dale wanted to burst into tears. But he didn't. He swallowed back his sobs and grasped his dying wife's hand a little tighter, nodding in understanding._

_He certainly wasn't going to argue with her or try to convince her otherwise. He'd only wanted her forgiveness._

"_You…" He stopped and cleared his throat, glancing away for a second. "You forgive me? Truly?"_

_But when he met her gaze again, something had changed. Her smile faded and her focus shifted. She turned her head and looked off towards the closed bedroom door at the other side of the room. A dreamy expression crossed her face._

_She was a million miles away._

_He choked back another sob and regained his composure, putting on a pleasant smile. For her sake._

"_Dale," Irma said, a grin breaking out on her face. "Do you hear that?"_

_Dale furrowed his brows, struggling to contain his sadness. He kept up the plastered-on smile and asked quietly, "What is it, sweetheart? What d'you hear?"_

_She was still grinning, gazing off at the closed door like she saw something he couldn't. "It's a baby… crying. It's—"_

_Then she let out a laugh. Dale choked back a sob._

"_Dale, it's Annabeth," she said, looking to him with pure glee. "I can hear her. She's cryin' for her mama. I—I think she's hungry."_

_Her eyes darted back to the closed bedroom door before growing wide. Her lips parted in awe, and she clutched Dale's hand with more strength than he'd felt from her in the last month._

"_Oh Dale, honey—d'you see her? There she is. She's so beautiful. She's got your hair. And my eyes. It—it's our daughter…"_

_Irma let out another laugh. So gleeful. So careless._

_Dale glanced back to search for what his wife was seeing, but just as he'd expected, there was nothing to be seen._

_Regardless, he turned back to Irma and forced a smile. "Yes, sweetheart. I always knew she'd be beautiful. She took after her mama, didn't she?"_

_He could feel Irma's pulse against his palms. And as it faded, so did her smile. Her eyelids fell shut and she let out one more soft chuckle._

_Then she went Away._

_Dale clutched her hands and whispered out, "I love you both so much."_

_He felt her heartbeats slowing… thu-ump, thuu-ump, thu-uump, thuu-uump… until they stopped altogether._

_Her chest was no longer rising and falling. Her body went still, completely limp._

_And just like that… she was gone._

_Dale burst into tears and wept, grasping Irma's lifeless hand so tightly that his knuckles turned white. His shoulders shook and his whole body wracked with sobs. His grief was so palpable, so heavy in the air and radiating outwards from every pore of his being, that it was overwhelming._

_Beth wanted to jump back and retreat to the safety of the elevator. Yet she couldn't. She simply could not tear herself away. It felt like the soles of her boots were glued to the floor. All the while, the tentacle-vines within her core were writhing wildly, desperate to reach out and wriggle their way across the carpeted past._

_Everything around her suddenly jolted and skipped, like a malfunctioning VHS tape. The scene skipped and the hazy film that had settled over everything became more prominent, more out-of-place. The film strip was ripping. Then the entire room shifted, just like the elevator when it was taking her to another level._

_Beth lost her balance and fell to the floor, catching herself with her hands and hurriedly pushing herself back up to her feet. But she was still unsteady. Confused. She looked around and saw the distorted vision of Dale and Irma's bedroom, yet she couldn't hear Dale's sobs._

_And then she saw it…_

_Irma was rising from the bed. Her body didn't move, though. It was her soul that was escaping, leaking out from her skull and standing up from the bed. Youthful and happy, smiling and laughing. No gray hair or wrinkles or sagging skin. Completely unaware of the husband who was grieving at her side. _

_Beth glanced over towards the closed bedroom door and finally saw what Irma had been talking about: a little girl. She was standing in the doorway, smiling. She had Dale's chin and dark hair color, and Irma's eyes and high forehead. Dressed in a pristine white dress with a glowing aura surrounding her. And she was holding her hand out, gesturing for Irma to join her._

_Of course, Irma rushed forward and grasped the little girl's hand. But just as they were stepping out the door and leaving the bedroom, Beth felt a cold shiver run down her spine._

_A deep, Haitian-accented voice boomed from behind, "Ya know, you're really starting to get on my nerves."_

_She whipped her head around and found none other than Papa Legba standing beside her. Barely an arm's reach away. All charcoal skin and long dreads and red eyes, baring his gleaming white teeth in a mischievous grin. The hem of his trenchcoat swaying in a non-existent breeze. Both dark hands clasped around his skullhead cane._

_Her fear brought him great pleasure. His low and ominous laughter filled her ears and she took a step backward. She wanted to tell him to fuck off, but she couldn't seem to summon her own voice._

"_This should be considered __**cheating**__, Sunshine Girl," Papa Legba drawled. _

_His red eyes flashed to crimson and Beth felt another shiver course through her entire body._

_She turned and ran._

_She didn't stop until she was safely inside the elevator. The metal doors slid shut and the elevator music started up again. She glanced at the panel of buttons and suddenly realized that she had no goddamn idea how to get back._

_A faint and familiar voice echoed inside her head: "You gotta know how ta get where ya need to go and get back. That's the important part—ya hear? Getting __**back**__."_

_Merle. Daryl. Maggie. Shawn. Daddy._

_They were all relying on her. She had to __**get back**__._

_But how?_

_She spun around inside the elevator, examining the small confinement and searching for a way out. But everything was sealed up tight. The digital display above the doors had gone blank. The buttons on the panel were no longer blinking, though all the floors she'd visited were lit up. All except two: the very top red button and the very bottom button. But she couldn't risk pressing either of them. She didn't want to be flung into another private memory of Dale's. And she sure as hell didn't want to be shot down to Papa Legba._

_Then she remembered: "There are countless doors that can only be opened by you, but you must __**want**__ to open them."_

_Right… Intent. Purpose. Control. Remembering who she was. All that stuff._

'_Okay,' Beth thought, staring at the panel of buttons and willing them to change. 'I want to go home. I need to get back. Take me back.'_

_She kept staring. Kept waiting. But nothing happened._

_She tried to remember everything the Witch of Youghal had told her, anything that might give her an idea of what to do now. Maybe she had no choice but to press the final button and hope for the best…?_

_And then, as if she'd just put on a pair of glasses, a detail caught her eye that she'd somehow missed this whole time: the red light of the '333' button was shining through something. Like there was a splotch of misplaced ink on the button._

_Without thinking, she reached into her pocket and pulled out the white handkerchief Florence had given her. How had it gotten here? She didn't know, but she didn't care either. She was just glad to have it._

_She reached up and lightly ran the satin cloth across the button. Sure enough, the ink smudged away. The '333' looked to have been crudely painted on. When she pulled the handkerchief away, she found that the button was indeed red underneath, but it was labelled with a symbol she actually recognized._

_A tiny triangle sitting atop a tiny square. And she knew it meant __**home**__._

_Of course. Papa Legba was a liar. He'd been trying to deceive her this whole time. He was practically inescapable._

_Not for Beth, though._

_She shoved the handkerchief back into her pocket before reaching out and pressing the red button, silently chanting, 'Take me home. Take me home. Take me home.'_

_The elevator shifted so hard that she nearly lost her balance. She reached out and leaned against the metallic wall for support. Then, instead of ascending farther upwards, it began to descend. A second later, it was shooting down rapidly._

_Beth focused on her slow-motion heartbeat, praying to God and anyone else who was listening that when the doors finally opened, she'd be back inside Dale's present-day little office. Where Daryl and Merle and Rick were waiting for her._

_The elevator came to an abrupt halt, jarring her once more. It settled. She took a step back, staring ahead at the shiny silver doors and waiting for them to open. The display above was still blank._

_**Ding!**_

_The elevator music stopped. The doors slowly slid open. _

_The light was blinding. Beth walked towards it._

**to be continued…**

* * *

**A/N: **I didn't include this exact information but I tried to give context clues: Irma's pregnancy that we saw in Dale's first memory from 1984 ended in a premature stillbirth, and they named the baby Annabeth. But obviously, Dale doesn't go around talking about it and it was a very painful and private matter for both him and his wife.


	57. The Weight of The Underworld

**The Weight of The Underworld**

Beth's entire body went numb. She could no longer feel herself stepping forward. The light grew so painfully bright that she had to shut her eyes.

But she could still hear her own heartbeat in her ears. It had been slow-motion this whole time and now it was catching back up, resuming normal pace. She had to take a deep breath in and hold it to prevent herself from panicking.

Then, very suddenly, all the sensation returned to her body. She could feel the floor beneath her feet, the clothes against her skin, the heartbeat within her chest.

And the warm, weathered hand clutching hers.

Her legs were wobbly, like she'd just been jumping on a trampoline and was stepping back onto solid ground. She opened her eyes and found that the blinding light was gone.

She was back. She was standing inside Dale's little office in SafeZone National Insurance, shaking his hand politely. He still had the same cordial smile on his face as before, and his fingers were barely slipping away from hers.

Beth realized that she'd done no more than blink… and she'd seen _everything_ Dale could remember about Philip Blake.

Holy. Shit.

A shiver ran down her spine and it took everything she had to keep the tight-lipped smile on her face. She wanted to collapse back into the chair and heave out a deep sigh. She wanted to scream. She wanted to cry. But she couldn't.

Dale was completely oblivious. She'd slipped into his mind and seen years' worth of his most private memories. And he had no idea. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and gave her a nod. He was waiting for her to speak.

The memory of their conversation flooded back into her mind and she blinked. Just like that, everything she'd seen and the places she'd gone when she'd shaken Dale's hand faded away and stored themselves inside her brain. She cleared her throat, still struggling to accept the pace of her own heart.

"Mr. Horvath," she started weakly, and when he raised his eyebrows and kept smiling, her voice grew a bit stronger. "I really do understand. I don't want you to think I'm some sorta… lost cause. I always saw you as a father figure, and—well, I just wanna make sure you know that."

Dale was obviously caught off-guard. His face fell and his eyes became watery. He took a half-step back and glanced away, clearing his throat awkwardly.

Without looking up, he muttered, "Thank you, Beth. That… means a lot. I always wanted a daughter like you."

He finally lifted his head and met Beth's eyes. When he did, she saw the tears pooling. She choked back a sob, fighting her own tears at this point.

She'd seen too much. She almost wished she hadn't seen any of it.

But it was _necessary_. Goddammit…

"But you need to know that you were wrong," Beth said. "Philip Blake isn't a _monster_—he's not a demon, he's not Satan Incarnate. He's just… a guy. A really sick, really bad guy. And The Governor might be nothin' more than his lonely little creation, but he is real. _Too_ real. He's _deadly_."

_Trust me, _she wanted to say. _I have first-hand experience with knowing the difference between a demon and a man. Knowing what's real and what's not._

Dale's brown eyes flickered and he swallowed thickly. "I truly wish I could help you. But I… I don't know anything about Mr. Blake. I _never_ did. I won't let myself slip an' act like a foolish old man. I've made too many mistakes. I won't repeat them."

Beth nodded sadly. "I know."

He looked back with confusion, brows furrowing. "I don't think you do. And let's hope you never _have_ to."

She shrugged, sniffling and clearing her throat. The pooling tears dried up. "No, Mr. Horvath, it's too late fer that. I have the power to do the right thing, and I can't look the other way. Not this time… I know a lot more than I should. Things you could never imagine."

He stared at her, perplexed. His jaw ticked, like he was itching to speak but couldn't decide on what exactly to say.

Beth knew she shouldn't have said anything more, but she couldn't help herself:

"Irma's in a better place, ya know. Annabeth took her there. Just like she told you."

Dale's jaw dropped and the tears finally escaped his eyes, rolling down his cheeks. He choked out stiffly, "I think it's time fer you to be headin' back home now, Miss Greene."

Beth nodded and turned away, leaving Dale nearly trembling where he stood. She let herself out of the office and shut the door behind her.

She shouldn't have said that. It was so stupid, so reckless.

_Why_ had she said that? She should've just walked away. She got everything she needed from his memories. There was no good reason to add to his pain.

But she hadn't been trying to _add_ to his pain… in fact, it was quite the opposite. She'd wanted to try and _alleviate_ it. In any way she could. After so many years though, was that even possible anymore? She'd probably just slowed down Dale's grieving process. Dammit. She should've kept it to herself.

That was it. The things she saw… the painful shit, the raw emotions, the shameful secrets… she just needed to keep them to herself. Take the pertinent information and use it, but push everything else aside. Because forgetting it certainly wasn't an option. But she could shove it away and leave things be.

It wasn't her job to try and bring closure to every hurting human being. Especially when they didn't _want_ that kind of closure.

She had a bad feeling that her slip of the tongue would end up coming back and biting her in the ass.

But she didn't have time to worry about that right now. Because she was striding through the empty office of SafeZone National Insurance, approaching Rick and Daryl and Michonne. They were standing around by the front door, talking quietly. They appeared to be getting along a lot better than before.

Beth could see Merle leaning against the outside of the plate-glass window next to the front door. He was smoking a cigarette and watching a group of teenage girls walk by on the opposite sidewalk. She could hear him whistling obnoxiously.

Even though she felt like she'd grounded herself pretty well and returned from a startling view of the past with impressive composure, she couldn't shake the odd sensation that was permeating her bones. It was like she'd just woken up from a lucid dream. Like she'd been shoved into reality a little too quickly. There wasn't a fog about everything, but there was a heavy sadness weighing upon her shoulders and blooming larger within her chest that no one else could understand.

She'd managed to tuck it away and shove it back for the time being. But with every step she took, the pain grew a little more intense, threatening to burst outwards any way it could.

She swallowed it down and composed herself. She remembered that she was Gifted, that she was _born_ for this. She assured herself that this was just another part of the gig. Surely, it would fade away. She'd fight through it and remain strong the whole time. Like she was meant to.

This wasn't the first heart-wrenching glimpse of the past she'd experienced, after all. And it probably wouldn't be the last.

As she approached Michonne, Daryl, and Rick, she slowed, coming to a stop and standing meekly to the side. Daryl's eyes had been on her since the moment she'd emerged from Dale's office, watching her through a fringe of dark hair. His hands were shoved into his pockets and he was standing by stiffly while Rick chatted with Michonne.

It took a moment for Rick to realize that Beth had returned. He was smiling, eyes set on Michonne—and surprisingly, Michonne was smiling back. Or rather, smirking. She seemed hesitant to appear fully pleased with what Rick was saying. But she was definitely listening, and she was no longer giving him a death glare like when they'd first arrived.

Beth was starting to wonder what she'd missed.

"Ya know," Rick was saying. "I could really use some good legal advice, 'specially from a beautiful, educated woman like yerself—maybe I could get yer card?"

Michonne rolled her eyes, still smirking. But she was looking back at the sheriff with a similar look. "Beautiful, huh?" She crossed her arms over her chest and turned to look at Beth, her smirk turning into a frown. "Oh—you're back. Where's Dale?" She shot a glance towards Dale's closed office door and narrowed her eyes. "What'd you say to him?"

Rick cleared his throat and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He exchanged a quizzical look with Beth, but she quickly turned back to Michonne.

"Not much," Beth said. "We've known each other fer years, he used to be my teacher. So we were just catchin' up." She forced a tight-lipped smile.

Michonne appeared taken aback. Her arms tightened over her chest and she quirked a brow. "Oh, really?"

Rick cut in, "So how 'bout that card? Or your email—"

Michonne's dark brown eyes flicked over to settle on the sheriff. She didn't smile, but it looked like she wanted to. She shrugged and held out her open palm.

Rick immediately interpreted the gesture and pulled his phone from his back pocket, unlocking it and opening up the Contacts app before he placed it in Michonne's waiting hand. She typed in her number, acrylic orange nails tapping away on the screen.

"I don't answer calls or texts after nine p.m.," Michonne muttered. "_If_ I answer you at all…"

Daryl silently stepped away and slipped out the front door as Michonne was handing Rick's phone back over to the grinning sheriff. Beth followed, discreetly slipping past Rick and out the door. It fell shut behind her, but Rick and Michonne were still chatting inside.

Beth took a couple steps forward and a deep breath of fresh air. The pain she'd been pushing back was still blooming larger in her chest, and now there was a knot slowly forming in her throat.

Daryl stopped by the curb and pulled out a crinkled pack of cigarettes, lighting one up. Beth stayed where she was a few feet away, trying to process everything she'd learned, trying to accept that she was… really fucking _powerful_. Daryl shot her a questioning glance but didn't say anything. He seemed to be waiting for her to speak when she was ready.

"So what'd ya see, blondie?"

Merle was eyeing her, still leaning against the plate-glass window with a cigarette between his fingers. He frowned, clearly not expecting much of an answer.

The dead Dixon knew her all too well by now. He could read her expressions, and she could tell he sensed her unease. He didn't expect an answer yet because he knew she didn't have one.

_Yet_.

All she could do was shrug. The knot was growing larger in her throat. Merle scoffed, shaking his head and taking a long drag off his cigarette. Beth turned away until she couldn't see him in her periphery.

When her eyes landed on Daryl, she realized he was watching her. Squinting. Puffing on his cigarette and studying her. She absent-mindedly pushed up the bracelet on her left wrist and rubbed at the scar that lay beneath.

She tried to remind herself that this was nothing new; she was well accustomed to making room for the pain, carrying it with her, storing it away somewhere safe. She knew how to shove it down and save it for later—for a more _appropriate_ time. She'd learned to avoid the pity and attention that would surely be thrust upon her. She knew how to mourn privately, in a healthy manner. How to suffer silently.

But for some reason… she just couldn't do that today.

Maybe it was something about Daryl being there. Staring at her. Or knowing that Merle was behind her. Also staring at her. That they had no clue just how much she'd witnessed. Maybe it was the knowledge of Dale's pain, knowing how he'd suffered just because he'd tried to be Philip Blake's friend. Or maybe it was that gut-twisting memory of Irma Horvath on her deathbed, and knowing that Dale was still nursing an open wound.

Hell, maybe it was the unbearable pain of seeing a ten-year-old Merle in dirty clothes, and his bruised mama pregnant with Daryl. Witnessing first-hand just how utterly goddamn _miserable_ that poor family had been… subjected to Will Dixon's abuse… helpless and hopeless…

Or, more likely, it was the constant threat of Papa Legba. A terrifying demon who wouldn't leave her alone, who kept stalking after her everywhere she went, who kept promising to make her pay for her intrusion. Even though she was only trying to do the right thing.

Actually, it was _everything_. It was all of those things and more. It was the curse of being Gifted. Filling her chest and her stomach and her head and her whole fucking _soul_.

It had to _go_ somewhere. It had to escape.

She couldn't just _feel_ all of this and act like it was nothing. She couldn't experience the worst parts of humanity and just keep going about her day as if nothing happened.

She wasn't _that_ Gifted.

Beth hadn't told her feet to move, but as soon as the tears began to pool in her eyes, the lower half of her body had started carrying her down the sidewalk on its own accord. She crossed her arms tightly over her chest and walked to the parked sheriff's car, past Daryl, away from Merle, ignoring both of their questioning grunts.

Suddenly, all she could hear was her own heart beating in her ears, and her lungs pumping oxygen through her veins. The pain was overwhelming. Every memory she'd witnessed when she grasped Dale's hand flashed through her mind, scene after scene after scene. One emotion after the next. Unrelenting. Merciless.

The Governor was evil. He was the epitome of bad ideas and selfish motivations. He'd killed. He'd scarred. He'd… caused so much fucking pain. And he was _still_ causing pain.

And there was so _fucking_ much at stake. Beth had felt so much suffering. She was literally battling with a demon for a good man's _soul_.

This pain had nowhere to go. She couldn't store it away. She couldn't shove it down and deal with it later. It was blooming so large behind her ribcage that it was about to burst, like an overinflated balloon of misery. And she knew she couldn't stop it.

She crumpled to the ground beside the sheriff's car, one hand on the passenger side door as she sunk to her knees. The pavement was hard, but she could barely feel it. The knot in her throat finally escaped as a loud sob, and she quickly slapped her free hand over her mouth. The pooling tears overflowed and poured out, leaking down her cheeks in a steady stream. Her breaths came in short gasps between sobs.

Everything seemed to be falling down upon her at once. Like being submerged in a sea of other people's grief. She could barely catch her breath. The waves kept coming, washing over her and pulling her beneath the surface.

Beth sobbed uncontrollably, trying to stifle the sounds with a hand over her mouth. Her face was wet with tears and snot and she knew her eyeliner was running, but she didn't care. She ended up sitting down on the hard pavement beside the car, leaning back against the passenger side door. Her shoulders shook and the tears continued.

All she could see was a blurry figure at her side, but she didn't know it was Daryl until she felt his hands on her arms and heard his gravelly voice in her ears.

"Beth, what happened? Why're you cryin'?"

She tried to respond, but she could barely see him through all the tears, and she couldn't catch her breath or stop crying long enough to speak. She took in a shuddery breath, but it only escaped as another sob.

Daryl's voice grew more concerned, more frantic. "What's wrong? Are ya hurt? Talk to me, girl—_please_." His tone sounded almost defensive as he asked, "What'd that guy _say_ ta you?"

Beth tried to form a response again and failed. She shook her head, still sobbing as she reached up and grasped Daryl's wrist. She blinked the tears away just enough that she could finally see his face. He looked worried, frowning and squinting down at her, at a loss for words.

She finally managed to sputter out, "Daryl, I—I saw…"

_I saw so much. I saw your mama carryin' you in her belly, and your daddy treating her like an animal. I saw how lost Merle's been since he was a little boy, how he never stood a chance. I saw just how sick and hopeless The Governor really is. And I found out exactly what this awful town thinks of your family. I saw all of Dale's worst fears come true, and I felt everything he felt. I watched a woman die and cross over. And I saw Papa Legba. Again. He won't fucking leave me alone. _

But all the words caught in her throat and another sob wracked her body. She couldn't speak.

Then she saw Rick from the corner of her eye. He was exiting the insurance company and striding down the sidewalk. His pace picked up when he spotted Daryl and Beth sitting on the ground beside the car.

Rick rushed up to them with concern, his carefree smile instantly disappearing, and Beth knew she was about to be hit with another onslaught of questions that she was incapable of answering.

"Beth, what's wrong? What happened?" Rick asked, bending down on one knee and glancing at Daryl for an explanation. But Daryl just shrugged helplessly.

Then she heard Merle's voice from above.

"Yer gettin' snot an' makeup all over that nice shirt yer wearin'."

He was sitting in the passenger seat of the sheriff's car, leaning his head out the open window and gazing down at her indifferently.

"Can ya wrap it up already, princess? We need ta get this show on the road."

**to be continued… **


	58. A Milkshake For Your Thoughts

**A Milkshake For Your Thoughts**

It took Beth several minutes to calm herself down. The tears kept coming, but the sobs became more manageable and she caught her breath long enough to wave Rick and Daryl away, motioning that she was okay and for them to give her some space. She needed room to breathe. And she really wished Merle would piss off, but he didn't seem to much care that she was sobbing uncontrollably on the ground.

After a few more minutes of Beth's soft crying, he shook his head and grumbled something about "can't stand these goddamn hysterical females" before disappearing.

Rick and Daryl obliged and stepped away to stand on the sidewalk and talk quietly to each other—for a second, Beth thought they must surely be discussing how crazy she obviously was. Probably doubting ever trusting her or her supposed "Gifts" in the first place. But then she snapped out of that bad habit and reminded herself: no, that wasn't true at all. Daryl trusted her. So did Rick. Even Merle was starting to come around now that he was seeing what she could do.

And, if she were looking on the bright side, this little breakdown was a small price to pay for the progress she'd made today. Before this, she probably would've blacked out and collapsed inside Dale's tiny office and given the old man a damn heart attack. But she hadn't. She'd slipped into his mind almost effortlessly, and when she came back, he was completely unaware that she'd ever gone anywhere at all.

Maybe it was to be expected that the weight of all these emotions would make her crumble every now and again. Maybe sometimes, she just had to let it all come out instead of trying to bottle it up inside.

She thought of that room she'd visited, where she'd heard her mama's voice. All those unpacked boxes and zipped-up suitcases. There wasn't much space for anything else in there, let alone another truckload of someone else's emotional baggage. She needed to feel it, understand it… and then let it go.

She'd only come here for the information on Philip Blake, after all. That was all she needed. And she'd certainly gotten it.

Once Beth's breathing had steadied and the tears stopped forming, she wiped a hand across her cheeks and stood up from the ground, sniffling. Rick and Daryl were watching, and they kept wary eyes on her as she slowly approached them.

She felt so damn foolish. She couldn't meet their gazes for more than a second before glancing away shamefully and mumbling, "Sorry. I'm fine, I just—I didn't mean to break down like that. In public."

Rick spoke up first, an understanding smile on his face. He used a voice that Beth rarely heard from him while he was in uniform. "S'alright, darlin'. You sure yer alright? Y'can take a few more minutes if ya need."

She quickly shook her head. "No, it's okay, I promise I'm fine. Thanks."

Daryl was chewing on his thumbnail, but he pulled it away to mutter, "What happened? Wasn't Dale that made ya cry, was it?" Something about his tone made Beth think that he was considering going back inside and giving Mr. Horvath a piece of his mind. She appreciated that he was willing to defend her, but Dale wasn't at fault.

She shook her head again and this time, a small smile formed on her lips as she met Daryl's eyes. "No, not at all. It wasn't nothin' like that. It…" But she couldn't find the right words yet and her voice trailed off. She realized her cheeks were probably smudged with eyeliner and she rubbed at them with her fingers, suddenly more self-conscious. Stupid makeup.

The two men were looking at her, waiting patiently for an explanation. But when she shrugged, at a loss for words, Rick exchanged a glance with Daryl and let out a sigh.

"Ain't gotta talk about it if yer not up to it," Rick said. "Whadd'ya say we head back? Shane's probably gonna start buggin' me 'bout where I am here 'fore too long. Surprised he ain't called yet."

"Yeah, let's go," Daryl agreed.

Beth nodded silently, then turned and headed for the sheriff's car. She was more than ready to put this place in the rearview mirror.

* * *

Inside the car, the trio returned to their previous seats, with Rick driving, Daryl in the passenger seat, and Beth in the back. Rick reached into the glove compartment and pulled out a travel-sized pack of tissues, turning around in his seat and handing them to Beth. She took them gratefully and used the reflection on her phone screen as a mirror while she tried to wipe all the smudged eyeliner from her face.

"Hey, yer mascara didn't run," Rick pointed out. "Nice."

Beth blushed. "Thanks. It's waterproof," she mumbled, staring down at her reflection in the black phone screen.

Daryl nudged Rick and said, "Don't talk 'bout her makeup, man. Women don't like that."

Rick let out a laugh and quipped, "Oh, _yer_ gonna tell _me_ about women? I was _married_."

Beth couldn't help but chuckle softly. Daryl just shook his head, but the corner of his mouth was tugged up into a teasing smirk. "An' what was that in there?" He jerked a thumb towards the direction of the insurance office. "You try'na find yer next wife already?"

Beth looked up to see Rick's reaction and caught him smirking coyly before quickly turning his attention to starting the car and putting on his seatbelt. "I'ono," he said. "Just gettin' some legal advice. She's got a law degree an' all that—you heard her, you were there for the whole conversation."

Daryl scoffed and gave the sheriff a knowing look. "Yeah, I was in the background while y'all flirted up a damn storm. How the hell you pestered her into givin' you her number is beyond me."

Beth remembered the Swamp Witch's vision and smiled to herself, keeping her lips shut tight. Was Michonne the "future wife" that Rick had been meant to meet? Had Beth and Daryl unknowingly put something life-changing into motion for their mutual friend?

Maybe there were some silver linings to this whole predicament, after all.

"What can I say," Rick said, jokingly smug. "I got a way with words."

Daryl rolled his eyes and Rick laughed as they pulled back out onto the street and began to drive away.

They hadn't driven more than half a block when Rick's cell phone started ringing. He had it perched inside a mount in the center of the dashboard, and when he pressed Accept on the incoming call, it went straight to the speakers inside the car. Rick kept his eyes on the road and both hands on the steering wheel.

"Y'ello," he answered.

"Rick. Hey, uh…" It was Shane, of course. "You, uh—ya didn't happen to see my sidearm layin' around anywhere, did'ja?"

Beth had to stifle a laugh from the backseat, while Daryl slowly turned his head and gave Rick a look of disbelief, mouthing the words _he lost his __**gun**__?_

Rick was visibly suppressing a smile, shaking his head like he was exasperated. "Uh, no… no, I can't say I have, Shane," he said. "If you lost it again—"

Daryl burst out, "_Again?!_"

"Who the hell is that? Am I on _speaker_?" Shane asked, immediately growing defensive. "Dammit Rick, what'd I tell you 'bout warnin' me when yer in the car. That fuckin' Bluetooth—"

"Relax, Barney Fife," Daryl mocked. "Ain't a _secret_ that yer a dipshit."

Beth was covering both hands over her mouth in an effort to stay silent, but she really wanted to laugh. Rick shook his head and quickly reached over to end the call before Shane could get any more heated.

"Is that Dixon? Listen here, _Daryl_, ain't no business of yours—"

But Rick quickly cut him off. "I'm headin' back right now, I'll see ya in a few," he said, then pressed End Call and heaved a sigh. He flashed Daryl an annoyed side-eye. "'Tween you an' him, I dunno who's worse."

Daryl's face turned incredulous. "Seriously? It's _him_."

"Yeah," Beth chimed in from the backseat. "Definitely him."

Rick rolled his eyes. "Christ." But Beth could see in the rearview mirror that he was smirking, and so was Daryl.

A chill ran down her spine as the car slowed to a stop at the intersection, and she looked over to see that Merle had appeared in the seat beside her. Frowning, as usual.

"So you done weepin' now, Crybaby Greene?" He taunted.

She glared over at him but kept her mouth shut. Daryl was fiddling with the radio station in the front seat and Rick was grumbling something about Shane being codependent.

Merle chuckled at Beth's silence and lazily crossed his arms over his chest. "Thought you'd never stop cryin'. The hell had you so worked up, anyhow? Ya gonna tell us what'cha saw? Or ya jus' gonna keep actin' all _mysterious_?"

Beth narrowed her eyes and shot him a look of pure contempt, but it only made him laugh. He turned to gaze out the window, muttering, "Figures. Jus' like my pa always said: God promised obedient women at all corners of the Earth… then He went an' made the earth _round_." Merle shook his head in disgust.

Beth had to stifle a chuckle at that. She hated agreeing with Merle or even giving him the satisfaction of being right, but he'd just quoted something that she'd heard her own daddy say dozens of times over the years. Hershel had always said it in a playful manner, of course. A common joke amongst Southern Baptists. Nonetheless, it never failed to make her laugh.

Because yeah, Merle was hoping for an obedient woman. But instead, he'd gotten Beth. It was kind of sadistically satisfying to think about.

Rick spoke up from the driver's seat, "Y'all wanna stop for some ice cream? I think I'd like a hot fudge sundae."

Daryl shrugged indifferently and Beth smiled awkwardly, keeping quiet. Rick glanced around at them before letting out a _hmph_.

"Well I dunno 'bout y'all, but I'm stoppin' fer some ice cream," he said decisively.

"Great," Merle muttered. "Another goddamn thing I can't enjoy."

Beth rolled her eyes, but the dead Dixon caught it and shot her a scowl.

"Fuckin' speak up already, blondie," he urged. "You know I don't like bein' ignored. Best share with the class an' make it worth our time. Don't forget, Officer Friendly's workin' on the taxpayer's dime, so you'd better not be wastin' that."

"Fine," she finally said, conceding in frustration. "But it's not anything that yer gonna wanna hear."

Rick and Daryl turned their heads and glanced back at her quizzically. She gave them a look that seemed to remind them she was the only one who had to listen to and talk to Merle. Rick opened his mouth and started to say, "Beth, you don't have to—" but Daryl stopped him with a nudge of the arm and he nodded in understanding. They both quickly looked away, though they didn't stop glancing back at her and listening attentively.

To Beth's surprise, Merle snapped his mouth shut and uncrossed his arms, partially turning his body to give her his full attention. She wasn't sure if he actually cared or if he was just looking for any available source of entertainment. Either way, he was shutting up and listening for once.

She didn't really care about his reaction or opinion, though. She was more concerned with the two living men in the front seat who were hanging on her every word; the two people who believed in her and trusted her and insisted on following her instincts, even though her instincts weren't quite well-developed yet.

"I did it," Beth said flatly. She let her words hang in the air for a moment, gauging the reactions. Rick gave her a glance in the rearview mirror, and Daryl looked back at her over his shoulder with intrigue. Merle just kept staring at her expectantly, as he had been since he reappeared.

Okay. They knew what she was referring to. She could elaborate. Maybe she could leave some parts out… maybe she could make them understand Dale's perspective without having to go back over all the gruesome details.

"I, um… I tried to ask Dale about The Governor," she continued, her voice growing weaker as Rick drove the vehicle through Senoia and towards the Dairy Queen that sat at the edge of town. "But he wouldn't tell me anything. He was pretty adamant about stayin' quiet, and I didn't understand at first. I've known him fer years, he's a good man, he always does the right thing—but he was holdin' something back. Like he was _scared_. I could tell."

Rick hummed in agreement, but Daryl remained silent.

"So, I…" She paused, letting out a deep breath and taking another one in, restoring her confidence as she spoke. "I tried to use my Gift. He went to shake my hand goodbye, and I just kinda focused, and when I touched him... " She had to avert her gaze downward and stare at her boots on the floorboard for this part. "And I got inside his head. Inside his memories. I saw everything he ever knew about Philip Blake."

Merle was the only one to let out an audible reaction. He chuckled, low and cold. Then he leaned back in his seat and stared down his nose at Beth, icy blue eyes narrowed as though he knew where this story was leading.

He smirked. "There ya go, darlin'… Now we're startin' ta _get_ somewhere."

* * *

While Rick drove them across Senoia and through the Dairy Queen drive thru, Beth began relaying everything she'd experienced on the Elevator of The Past.

Of course, she chose to omit certain parts—like the squirming tentacle-vines within her core and the upsetting vision of a pregnant Leanne Dixon. But everything else was summarized with as much detail as she could recall. Even the unsavory parts, like Senoia's general consensus on the Dixon family and the fire, and Philip Blake's rapid descent (or _ascent_?) into full-fledged insanity.

Beth was still trying to figure out what kind of person The Governor really was. Because she knew he was bad—hell, she was almost certain that he was _pure_ _evil_, just like Dale had concluded—but she couldn't be completely sure yet.

Not yet. She was unsettled with condemning a man as a hopeless case. Even with Dale's memories fresh in her mind, she didn't feel comfortable with herself knowing that she was assuming the absolute worst from a fellow human being.

Maybe Dale was right; maybe Philip was a Lost Cause. Or maybe he hadn't tried hard enough. Maybe he hadn't approached it from the right angle. Maybe there was some sort of unseen hope to be found.

Or maybe she was just being naive. She couldn't decide.

The one conclusion she'd come to was inarguable, though: Philip Blake was _dangerous_. He wasn't Satan Incarnate by any means, and he wasn't a monster. He didn't come close to the likes of Papa Legba. He was just a man.

But The Governor was a lethal threat. As so many men were prone to be. And just like with so many other men, she couldn't let herself assume the best from him. No matter how badly she wanted to.

The things she knew for a fact: He wouldn't stop until he got what he wanted. Even if what he wanted was an impossible pipe-dream. He would kill anyone that tried to stand in his way. And if he couldn't kill them, he'd make them _wish_ they were dead. Also, as recent events had proven, he had no qualms against murder. He'd graduated from blackmail and accessory manslaughter to full-fledged homicide without so much as blinking.

He didn't seem to _care_ anymore. Maybe those years in prison had pushed him close enough to the edge that he'd stopped worrying about repercussions.

She could only guess. Yet she'd gotten no more than a glimpse of his psyche from thirty years ago. And that was frightening enough.

It was more than frightening. It was downright _terrifying_. It was enough to know that he meant business, and that Beth and Daryl shouldn't underestimate him.

As they sat in the parked sheriff's car outside Dairy Queen and ate ice cream, Beth also made sure to relay her experience with Papa Legba. In between sips of her strawberry milkshake.

Rick appeared intrigued, staring at Beth and spooning scoops of vanilla ice cream and hot fudge into his mouth like he was listening to a ghost story. But Beth saw the way Daryl shuddered at the mention, and how his shoulders sagged a little more after hearing about Legba's threatening appearance. How he stopped eating what remained of his small bowl of chocolate ice cream and chose to chuck it out the window instead, as though his appetite had suddenly disappeared.

She knew that Rick didn't understand. He hadn't been forced to watch his own brother make a deal with a demon like Daryl had. He couldn't fathom the possibility of facing an eternity in Hell because of someone else's decision. He didn't really have any idea of how scary Papa Legba actually was, or how much weight his threats held.

Merle, on the other hand, pretended to be indifferent. But Beth could tell that the dead Dixon was just as unsettled as his living brother. He would barely look at her once she started talking about Legba, gazing at the floor and out the window instead.

_Good,_ she thought. _He __**should**__ be unsettled. It's __**his**__ soul that fucker's after. He should be quakin' in his boots. It's __**his**__ fault we're in this shithshow to begin with._

Then she quickly corrected herself—no, that wasn't right. Merle was a _different_ kind of person. Not good, but not _evil_. He never would've abided by The Governor's rules, or allowed such a feeble-minded man to threaten his only brother. He wasn't like Dale, who'd had a million things to lose and no way out.

To his credit, Merle had _tried_. He'd used his final breaths to lie and attempt to protect his brother. So she couldn't go resenting him for something he had no control over. She knew that if Merle were still alive, he'd be tracking Philip down himself.

But Merle _wasn't_ alive. That was the thing. He'd become yet another name on The Governor's presumably long list of victims. Right alongside Dale and Frank and Leanne and Daryl and and and…

"So what yer tellin' me," Rick said, dropping his spoon into the empty sundae container in his hands. "Is that Mr. Horvath was Philip's alibi. 'S that right?"

Beth sipped her milkshake, grateful for the sweet treat and the way it seemed to soothe her soul. She was already feeling a million times better than she had when she'd stepped out of the insurance company. She nodded. "Yeah, but he didn't _want_ to be. He was scared. His whole life was on the line."

"'Course," Rick agreed. "Philip blackmailed him, threatened him with both financial and physical harm. I get it." He paused and raised his eyebrows, squinting in that way he always did when he was beginning to disagree. "But Dale still convinced everyone else in the office to back up the alibi…"

Daryl interjected rather abruptly, his voice coming out in a burst of emotion. "_My_ life was on the line. So was my mom's. So, what—we didn't fuckin' matter to this guy?"

"To who?" Beth snapped back. "To Dale? Or to The Governor? 'Cause I think you know the answer to both those questions. It wasn't _about_ you or your mom, Daryl. Dale was _terrified_ of Philip. Just like you are. Just like I am."

Merle let out a low whistle. "Careful now, blondie. Yer treadin' dangerous territory there."

The dead Dixon was trying to sound indifferent, almost absent, but he wasn't doing a very good job. Beth could hear the offense in his voice, and she could see the displeased scowl on his face.

Daryl, on the other hand, was turned away from her in the front seat, glaring out the window and chewing on his thumbnail. He didn't even grunt to acknowledge her reply.

"He coulda said somethin', though," Rick claimed. "He essentially aided Will and Philip in their crime. Helped 'em get away with it."

Beth couldn't help but get defensive. She hadn't been thrust into all of Dale's most painful memories for nothing, after all. She hadn't felt everything he'd felt and experienced his worst fears just to walk away with an ignorant perception. "Philip is off the hinges. He threatened Dale with everything that Dale ever cared about. Y'all can't try to tell me that you wouldn't have done the same thing in his position."

Rick paused and contemplated her statement, quirking a brow. Daryl remained silent. Merle crossed his arms over his chest and scoffed.

"I never would've helped a criminal get away with insurance fraud and murder," Rick said.

Beth bristled. "Really?_ Never? _Not even if you knew your silence might mean the difference between you ever gettin' to see Carl or Judith again? Not even if it meant you could've saved your marriage with Lori?"

Rick's jaw dropped and he quickly glanced away, almost ashamed. Struck silent.

Beth immediately regretted saying that. But at the same time… she didn't. It was harsh, but it was the truth. And maybe it was the truth that Rick needed to hear. That Daryl needed to hear.

"I get it," Merle said plainly, breaking the silence.

Only Beth could hear him, though. The other two men were still speechless. She looked over to the dead Dixon with a doubtful gaze. She was waiting for him to add some kind of sarcastic comment.

But he didn't. He just shrugged and said, "Snitches end up in ditches. Ain't worth it if it don't affect you an' yours. 'M not gonna waste no energy bein' mad at some old man who was just lookin' out for his own family. Hell, _nobody_ coulda stopped my pa from doin' what he did. Our mama gave up way before Daryl ever came along. She never stood a chance. No point in lingering on the past, anyhow. Can't change it, so why bother?"

Rick and Daryl were still silent, looking away shamefully. Ruminating on what she'd said.

Jesus. She'd never thought the day would come when Merle would agree with her before anyone else did. Yet here they were.

Merle was the only one who truly understood. And he was dead. So what did _that_ say?

Well, maybe the guy who'd come face-to-face with an honest to God demon—and struck up a deal with said demon—had a better perception on things than the two living men at her side. So be it.

She and Merle knew who the real enemy was here. And it wasn't Dale Horvath _or_ Philip Blake. In all honesty, it wasn't even Papa Legba.

It was The Governor.

**to be continued…**

* * *

**A/N: **Chapters 3-5 of the podfic are now available for your listening pleasure! Check this fic out on AO3 for the link :)


	59. A Jury of Your Fears

**A Jury of Your Fears**

"You didn't _see_ what I saw," Beth said, her spine going rigid in the backseat of the sheriff's car as she spoke with determination to the two men sitting up front. "You didn't _feel_ what I felt. Dale tried to do what was _right_, but it didn't matter. 'Cause Philip Blake doesn't _care_ about what's right. He just does what he wants and destroys anybody who tries to get in his way."

Daryl was still turned away, staring out the passenger side window and chewing on his thumbnail. Rick was diverting his gaze as well, a contemplative expression on his face.

Merle was the only one who seemed to be taking this well. He wasn't smirking or laughing like usual, but he was listening. He was agreeing. And as much as Beth hated to admit it, he was being somewhat supportive.

She couldn't imagine why he was the only one in the car who was empathizing with her point. But… whatever. She was willing to take what she could get right now.

Rick cleared his throat and dragged his eyes up to meet Beth's. "But he was an accessory to _murder_, Beth. If he really wanted to do what was right, he woulda—"

"_What?_" Beth interrupted, leaning forward and speaking sharply, in a tone she'd never dared take with the sheriff before this. "He would've _what_? Told the cops everything, given himself up, served time in prison? Lost his wife? Lost his friends and his home and his job and everything he'd ever worked for? Maybe even lost his _life_ if Philip decided to _kill_ him for snitching?!" Beth narrowed her eyes, an anger rising up within her that was not her own. "Is that what _you_ would've done, Sheriff Grimes? For some family that you barely knew—some family that you couldn't help no matter _how_ hard you tried?"

Rick blinked and turned back around in his seat. Beth could see his uncomfortable reflection in the rearview mirror.

"_When_ did he try?" Daryl asked, without so much as a glance back in Beth's direction. He was still staring out the window and chewing on his thumbnail.

Beth paused. She swallowed hard and replayed the memory inside her head. Then she said, "Before you were born. Everybody knew how yer mama was treated. And nobody did _anything_ about it. But Dale tried. And your mama told him to mind his business… I don't think he tried again after that."

In near perfect unison, both Daryl and Merle grunted out, "You saw that?"

Beth's heart panged. She'd left this part out for a reason. She didn't want to have to relay it.

"Yeah," she muttered listlessly. "I didn't want to. But I did. Your daddy was… a real bad man. _No one_ could convince your mom to leave him."

"No shit," Merle grumbled.

Daryl chewed even harder on his thumbnail, downright gnawing at it, and kept staring out the window. He didn't make a sound. But Beth knew he'd heard her.

Then she looked at Rick in the rearview mirror and added, "If y'all wanna condemn Dale, then you'd better be ready to condemn everybody else in town, too. 'Cause they _all _knew what Will Dixon did, and _none_ of 'em did a damn thing to stop it. Dale might've been the alibi, but he's the only one who stepped in and tried to prevent it before it became a murder case."

Rick started to argue weakly, "Yeah, but—"

Beth cut him off, "But _nothing_. You know just as well as I do that even if Dale had told the cops everything he knew, they probably couldn't have _done_ anything. It wasn't _just _the alibi that got Will and Philip off the hook. There wasn't enough evidence to convict them. Period. They would've gotten away with it no matter what, because that's how they _planned _it. Philip might be sick, but that doesn't mean he's not _smart_."

For a brief second, she thought, _Maybe if Dale had stolen that journal before Philip destroyed it…_

But that was irrelevant at this point. He hadn't taken the journal. He never had any evidence that Philip was responsible for the Dixon fire. No one did. There was no fixing that, even thirty years later.

Merle cleared his throat as though he were shoving down a painful knot. His blue eyes looked a little watery when he chuckled and said, "Shit, blondie. Yer startin' to sound like _me_."

Beth shot him a contemptuous glare.

He shrugged. "'Sposed ta be a compliment."

She rolled her eyes.

Rick heaved a sigh and turned his head to look from Beth to Daryl and back again. "Well, I think it's pretty clear we make a better investigative team than we do a jury. We don't all have to agree on everything. Jus' what matters. And what matters is findin' Blake and stopping him."

"Agreed," Beth said. "We can't change what already happened, but we _can_ change what happens next."

"I've _been_ sayin' that," Merle piped up. "Y'all just ain't wanna listen to the _dead guy_."

_Can you blame us?_ Beth wanted to retort. But she held her tongue and resisted the urge to talk to a ghost while in the company of the living.

Daryl finally turned his head to glance at Rick, an agitated expression on his face. "We jus' gonna sit here in front'a Dairy Queen all day, or are we gonna start headin' back?"

With a frown, Rick started up the car. Beth buckled her seatbelt and tried to catch Daryl's eye, but he'd already turned to stare out the window again.

Had she just screwed everything up by mentioning the memory of Leanne and Will? Had it been ignorant for her to think she could omit certain details and get away with it?

She couldn't help but regret ever opening her mouth to begin with.

* * *

Beth's half-finished milkshake was sitting between her knees, all but forgotten, as she gazed out the window and watched Senoia pass by. The silence inside the car was heavy and tense. Daryl's unspoken anger was radiating outward from his body, punctuated by his stiff shoulders and the continued gnawing on his thumbnail. Rick was visibly tense as well, one hand on the steering wheel and the other idly scratching at the stubble on his jaw. The radio was quietly playing the only classic rock station that could be picked up from within city limits.

"You gonna drink that or jus' let it melt into strawberry soup?" Merle asked.

Beth turned her head and gave him a quizzical frown. She'd barely been aware that he was staring, but she'd assumed he was just staring at her like he always did: expectantly and with a tinge of disappointment, as though she were supposed to be _doing something_ at all times.

He wasn't, though. He was staring at the DQ cup sitting between her knees. And there was a hint of longing in his gaze.

Merle Dixon? Gazing at _anything_ longingly?

Then she realized that he hadn't lit up another cigarette in at least five minutes, which was odd for him. She quirked a brow. He rolled his eyes in response, frowning.

"Y'could at least appreciate bein' alive and not waste the damn thing," he muttered, gesturing towards the cup. He shook his head. "Never thought I'd miss food so goddamn much, but _fuc_k… I'd make a whole new deal just to taste some'a that fuckin' ice cream one more time."

Beth smiled mischievously, stifling a giggle.

Merle sneered and narrowed his eyes at her. "Glad you find it so amusing. Jus' wait till _you're_ dead, Miss High an' Mighty. You'll see what I mean."

Her smile disappeared at that and she shot him a glare before turning back to look out the window again.

A moment of silence passed, then he spoke up much softer than before, "Maybe y'could… _describe_ it to me or sum'n. Christ, feels like I'm forgettin' what food ever tasted like—I been dead too fuckin' long."

She ignored him.

"Don't make me beg," he grumbled. "Should I start listin' off the things I'd do jus' ta taste a chili cheese dog one more time? 'Cause it's a pretty _graphic_ list, and it starts with sucking somebody's—"

"Thanks again for the shake, Rick," Beth spoke up, drowning Merle out. She grabbed her cup and took a sip of the melting ice cream, shooting Merle a resentful side-eye.

"Don't mention it," Rick replied. "Figured if ice cream helps cheer my kids up after a meltdown, it might help us, too."

"Yeah," Beth agreed, barely listening to the sheriff. She glanced over and met Merle's expectant gaze, taking another sip. "It's really good. Like, cold but not _too_ cold. Sweet but not too sweet. Um, really smooth… very strawberry-y, I guess? Uh…"

Merle's mouth was curling up into a grin and his eyes lit up. She could practically see him salivating.

Daryl turned his head to give her a weird look over his shoulder. "We know what a milkshake tastes like."

Beth's face went red and she lowered the cup. Merle cackled.

Rick glanced in the rearview mirror, smirking. "Wait, are you _describing_ yer ice cream?" He chuckled. "Is Merle back there with ya?"

Beth sighed. "Maybe." She slumped back in her seat, embarrassed. "You guys just don't understand what it's like bein' _stuck_ with him…"

Daryl had turned back to the window, but he muttered out, "Yeah, I do. Don't try to appease him. It'll never be enough."

Merle scoffed. "Don't listen ta him. He's just _bitter_." The dead Dixon smirked. "Yer the one that's _stuck_ with me. I think it's in yer best interest to placate me every now an' again. Wouldn'tcha say, blondie?"

Beth wanted to say no. But she knew he wouldn't believe her. Torture came all too naturally to him, as she'd experienced. And she had no desire to listen to his graphic depictions of obscene acts, or his constant complaining.

Taking the high road was proving to be more and more of a challenge with every moment she spent in his presence. Sometimes, she wanted to torture him right back. Just to give him a taste of his own medicine.

But how do you torture a dead guy?

She sucked down the last of her milkshake and held the empty cup between her knees while the quiet sound of the radio filled the car. They were coming to a slow stop at the intersection that led out of town.

"So where to?" Rick asked, glancing over at Daryl and then back at Beth.

Daryl spoke up first, "Back ta my place. I'll drive 'er home."

Rick looked at Beth in the rearview mirror. "That good with you, Beth? I need to get back to the station 'fore Shane burns the place down."

She nodded, eyes flickering over to Daryl. But he wasn't looking at her, and his face was turned towards the window. "Yeah, that's fine."

She couldn't help but wonder why he'd offered such a thing. She still hadn't met his roommate, even though—according to Merle—said roommate already knew all about her. So was Beth finally going to meet this mysterious roommate? Or did Daryl expect her to ignore his home altogether and hop right onto his bike, no questions asked? Because she was pretty sure he knew better. No way could he bring her to the front door of his house and not expect her to want to go inside and have a look around. He'd already been inside _her_ home, after all. He'd met her dad and brother. It was only fair that she would receive the same hospitality, especially considering all they'd experienced together over the past few days.

They were supposed to be _friends_. Right?

Rick turned at the intersection and began driving towards the trailer park that sat on the outskirts of town. Merle was lighting up another cigarette, filling the inside of the car with the stench of burning tobacco once again. Beth frowned, but he wasn't paying her any attention. He was too preoccupied with tapping his foot to the song on the radio and gazing out at the passing scenery.

"Hey, Rick," she said.

He met her eyes in the mirror. "Yeah?"

"So yer gonna set up a meeting with that judge, right?"

Merle snapped to attention, exhaling cigarette smoke through gritted teeth. "The hell you wanna do that fer? Already got all yer gonna get from the old man back there."

Even Daryl's attention was piqued. He turned his head, looking pointedly at the sheriff.

Rick frowned and went back to staring at the road. "Wasn't plannin' on it, but I s'pose if y'all wanna try that route…"

Daryl cleared his throat. "Why wouldn't we?" He shot Beth a glance of agreement before turning back to Rick. "She saw all that jus' from the guy who worked with The Governor thirty damn years ago. Hell, it'd be stupid _not_ ta try an' see what she can find out from the broad Merle screwed around with 'fore he died."

Beth smiled, grateful to have Daryl on her side.

Merle wasn't so grateful, though. He scoffed and shook his head. "Dunno what y'all think yer gonna learn from that dumb bitch…"

Beth turned to him and snapped, "Well, you don't wanna remember the stuff that could help, so what other choice have you left us?"

He sneered and grumbled something about "nothin' _worth_ remembering" as he went on smoking his cigarette. Rick sighed in the front seat, completely indifferent to the fact that she was talking to the ghost beside her.

"I get it," he admitted. "I just… gotta be honest, I'm a little wary 'bout this whole _blackmail_ thing."

"Don't even know if it'll come ta that," Daryl said.

"Exactly," Beth agreed. "Like we said earlier, it's a last resort. She might be willing to tell us whatever we wanna know without havin' to threaten her career."

Rick hummed with uncertainty, eyes on the road as his hands gripped the steering wheel a little tighter.

Beth added, "We won't know till we try."

"Yeah," Rick said. "So you've said…"

"Well," Daryl mumbled. "She's right."

Merle grumbled something inaudible under his breath, clearly unhappy as he took another drag off his smoke and blew it out the open window. But Beth ignored him. He'd been disagreeing with nearly everything so far, yet he'd been proven wrong multiple times already. So she had no intention of listening to him.

He could be mad all he wanted, but that wasn't gonna stop her. _Or_ Daryl.

Rick heaved another sigh, shaking his head and frowning as he finally gave in. "Alright. I'll call 'er later an' see when she's free this week. But I can't make no promises." He glanced back to Beth first and then over to Daryl, awaiting their responses.

Beth nodded with pursed lips and Daryl grunted out a sound of agreement.

"We're not askin' for promises," she assured. "Just do what you can an' leave the rest to us."

Rick chuckled. "Well I'm not gonna let y'all go walkin' into that alone. If she's got information, I want it, too. I'm way too invested to walk away at this point."

Merle sucked his teeth and made a sound of disapproval. "Ain't gonna get no kinda information you'd wanna know." He shot Beth a glare. "_Trust_ me."

Beth rolled her eyes and turned away from him.

But she was thinking, _We've already learned our lesson when it comes to trusting you._

* * *

Rick slowed as he pulled into the trailer park and navigated his way to the rundown little mobile home that belonged to Daryl. Beth barely recognized it from when she'd driven through the other day. It looked different in the bright mid-afternoon sun, and even though it had only been a couple of days ago, it felt like forever since she'd first stopped by in search of the last living Dixon. So much had happened since then.

Merle was quiet and disgruntled. He didn't disappear until Rick put the car into Park and bid goodbye to Beth and Daryl, promising to text them the next day with info on their scheduled meeting with the judge. Beth expected Merle to reappear outside the car, but he didn't.

Then the sheriff drove off, leaving them standing at the graveled front entrance of Daryl's trailer.

Up close, it looked nicer than she remembered. Or maybe that was because of the change in her perception. It wasn't anything special—closely resembling every other trailer in the park, save for the color. But she could tell that someone had put some care into it. There were a few flowers planted in the dirt next to the small set of wooden stairs, and a welcome mat before the front door that said _Home Sweet Home_. The paint was peeling and the windows were water-stained, nearly every bit of metal showing red with rust, but Beth could see curtains on the insides of the windows and tiny potted plants sitting in the sills. There was even a small wooden sign hung on the door that read _Dixon & Peletier_.

Someone had tried to make this place a little more welcoming, a little more cozy. And Beth was guessing it hadn't been Daryl.

An old blue hatchback was parked off to the side, and beside it was Daryl's motorcycle. The hatchback had several bumper stickers plastered over the peeling paint of its rear-end, like _I'M WITH HER 2016 _and _COEXIST _and _If You Can Read This, Get Off My Ass_. There was also a child's bicycle resting against the side of the trailer, with tattered pink tassels hanging from the handlebars.

As soon as Rick had driven off and out of sight, Daryl started striding towards his bike as though he expected Beth to follow. But she only trailed after him for a few steps before she stopped and spoke up.

"Is yer roommate home?" She asked curiously.

He came to a halt a few steps shy of his bike and turned around. He glanced towards the trailer and shoved his hands in his pockets, shrugging. "Yeah. Why? I's gonna take ya home."

Beth shrugged back, a bashful smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "Well, I don't really have to be back fer another couple hours. Maybe we could just… chill here fer a minute."

Daryl narrowed his eyes almost suspiciously, his gaze flicking over to the trailer and back to Beth. "What fer? You gotta piss or sum'n?"

She rolled her eyes in mock annoyance. "No," she huffed out a breathy laugh. "I jus' thought I could meet your roommate. See where you live. Y'know, be polite and introduce myself." She shrugged again, bashfully this time, and tried to interpret his expression.

But he was unreadable, as usual. All she could see was that he was awkward and maybe a little conflicted. He glanced away from her eyes and grunted. Then he started stroking his chin hair with one hand, like a nervous habit.

"What'cha wanna do that fer?" He muttered.

Beth looked back at him incredulously. "Why not? You tryin' to keep me a _secret_ or somethin'?"

She said it in a light-hearted tone, like a joke. But she was partially serious.

Was he ashamed of her? Ashamed of their connection and the supernatural journey they were on together? Was he afraid people would think he was just as crazy as she was? Or was he worried that people would think something else—that they were somehow _inappropriately involved_, like Shawn had assumed?

Regardless, he'd already told his roommate all about her. Or so Merle said. Could she believe the deceased Dixon? Maybe he'd just been trying to stir the pot and create strife because he didn't like how quickly she was becoming friends with his brother.

Or maybe he'd been telling the truth, and Daryl simply didn't want Beth to meet the woman who already knew about her dark secret thanks to a secondhand source. Maybe he was one of those guys who liked to have two separate lives: a _professional_ life and a _home_ life. And maybe, just maybe… Beth was part of that _professional_ life.

She hoped not. She wasn't sure why—couldn't really say without admitting to herself that she was starting to like Daryl a lot more than she'd ever liked anyone before—but she preferred to think she could be filed under the_ home life_ category inside Daryl's head. Surely they'd shared enough by now. Surely they'd gotten close enough and built enough trust that he could see her in… _that_ way. Like a friend. Or like something more one day. Maybe. If circumstances allowed it.

Wait… _why_ did she care? And _why_ was she letting Merle's hearsay get into her head and dictate her actions?

Daryl was staring back at her, though. Chewing on his thumbnail nervously. Hesitating. Then he responded, "Yeah. Kinda. Ain't like our situation's _easy_ ta understand…"

"So?" Beth countered, trying not to be offended. "You already told her about me. Didn't you?"

Daryl furrowed his brow. "How'd you know?"

She crossed her arms over her chest and quirked a brow. "I didn't. Till now. I thought Merle might've been tryin' to stir the pot, but I guess he was tellin' the truth."

The tips of his ears turned pink as he let out a displeased grunt. "An' how the hell would _he_ know? Been eavesdroppin' or sum'n?"

Beth gave him a look that said he shouldn't have to ask, echoing Merle's own words, "He's a ghost. He's _always _listening."

Daryl scoffed and waved a hand dismissively. "Christ—yer startin' to sound jus' like him."

She huffed, frowning at him, and argued, "No, I'm not. You knew he was at yer house watchin' _Game of Thrones_, what made you think that was the only time he dropped by? He doesn't have to eat or sleep anymore, and he can't drink or get high. All he cares about is you, anyhow."

"Oh, yeah," Daryl muttered bitterly. "Real _caring_ guy. First he sells my soul, then he tries ta start shit between me an' the girl who's s'posed ta _save_ it." He rolled his eyes and turned towards his bike.

Beth kept her feet planted where they were, though. "No one's startin' any shit, Daryl. I don't _care_ if you told your roommate about me—all I care is that you don't try ta get mad about me tellin' Maggie what we go through. Since that would make you a hypocrite."

"This again?" He was audibly annoyed, refusing to turn and look back at her while he fished his keys from his pocket and prepared to hop on the motorcycle.

"_Again_? We only talked about it once—or rather, _argued_ about it."

"Yeah, an' I thought we'd moved on. Already agreed ya wouldn't tell nobody else. Obviously my lips are fuckin' sealed, so what's the problem?"

"Well, we've told Rick, and unless you wanna try to keep up the boyfriend/girlfriend charade, I'm gonna have to come clean to my dad an' brother eventually. 'Cause they're not gonna keep accepting that we're '_just friends_' who spend hours together everyday."

Daryl threw one leg over his bike and lowered himself down onto the seat. "The hell's any of that got'ta do with you meetin' Carol?"

Beth sighed in exasperation and shook her head. "'Cause it feels _weird_ that she knows what I can do—knows _all about _what we're goin' through—and all I know of her is what you've told me and that one picture you showed me on your phone. I don't just wanna be the Gifted girl who's savin' your soul. Okay? You know _my_ family. And I wanna know _yours_."

He opened his mouth and she already knew what he was going to say, so she quickly cut him off.

"Not your _blood_ family, your _chosen_ family," she clarified. Then her voice softened. "You said we were _friends_. So why're you tryin' to keep me at a distance?"

He finally lifted his eyes and met her gaze, responding very matter-of-factly, "Me an' you are friends, but Carol's my _best_ friend. Only one I've ever had. An' I care about her, an' I ain't gonna risk gettin' her all wrapped up in this demonic shit show. She's had it hard enough, she don't need nothin' like this thrown in on top of it all."

Beth's frustration reached its peak and she no longer cared how obvious it was that she was taking offense to these statements. "Well it's good to know what you _really_ think of me," she remarked.

"What the hell you on about, girl?"

But she was already walking away before he'd finished his question, marching straight for the front door of the trailer.

She wasn't going home until she had more than just a picture on a phone to put to Carol "the roommate" Peletier's name.

**to be continued… **


	60. Meeting The (Found) Family

**Meeting The (Found) Family**

As usual, Merle had impeccable timing. Just as Beth's knuckles were making contact with the thin wooden door of the mobile home, he appeared beside her. The knocking was immediately followed by the sound of a dog barking loudly from inside the trailer. Daryl was cursing under his breath and dismounting the motorcycle, begrudgingly walking up to stand at the bottom of the steps.

"The fuck's the hold up here?" Merle asked, already annoyed. He glanced from the door to Daryl and then to Beth. "Thought y'all was headin' back to the farm or somethin'."

Beth shrugged and responded just loud enough for him to hear, "I wanna meet Carol."

He scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Why? Ain't you got enough _drama_ in yer life, sweetcheeks?"

She ignored him and listened to the sounds coming from behind the door: a dog that kept barking, and a woman's voice telling him to hush up and sit down. The barking continued, though. Followed by hurried footsteps approaching the door.

Merle scoffed with aggravation and cursed under his breath about "wastin' time talking to some useless dyke" before promptly disappearing. And then the door opened.

The woman from the picture on Daryl's phone was standing before Beth. She was a few inches taller than Beth and appeared to be near the same age as Daryl, with graying auburn hair that was cut short above her ears. She was dressed in faded jeans and an old, baggy _Reba McEntire _T-shirt, with gray socks and no shoes—clearly not expecting any visitors. She had a puzzled expression on her face. Then she glanced over Beth's shoulder and saw Daryl standing at the foot of the small wooden stairs, and it seemed to click inside her head. She smiled warmly and gazed down at Beth with soft blue eyes.

But before either of the women could say anything, a full-grown German Shepherd nosed his way past Carol's leg and slipped out the door, giving Beth no more than a brief upwards glance and a quick sniff before rushing straight down the stairs to greet Daryl. Beth looked over her shoulder to see the dog jumping up and placing both front paws on Daryl's chest, nearly knocking him over with excitement.

"Well hi there," Carol greeted, her eyebrows raised in surprise. "I was wondering when I'd finally get to meet you."

Beth smiled back with a surge of confidence. "Same here." She reached out a hand in polite greeting. "I'm Beth Greene—the girl who can see Daryl's dead brother."

Carol's smile turned into a grin and she chuckled. She took Beth's hand, giving it a friendly shake before releasing it. "So I've heard. I'm Carol… the roommate-slash-best friend."

"So I've heard."

Daryl spoke up from the bottom of the stairs. "There, you met 'er. Can I take ya home now?"

Carol immediately scolded him, "Oh Daryl, don't be rude."

Beth turned her head and shot Daryl a gloating smirk from over her shoulder. "Yeah Daryl, don't be _rude_."

He rolled his eyes, clearly annoyed, and turned away to follow after Dog, who was trotting off across the grass and sniffing the ground. "Whatever. Dog's gotta take a shit, I'mma go with 'im."

"Well," Carol said. "I would apologize for him, but I don't think I have to do that with you."

Beth shrugged it off. "You don't. It was my idea to come in an' say hi. He didn't think it was necessary."

"He wasn't raised to be a proper southern lady like us," Carol joked, winking. Then she stepped aside and held the door open. "Come in, please. I was just about to start makin' dinner."

Beth pulled out her phone and glanced at the clock. "Oh," she said, frowning. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize it was so close to dinner time already. I don't wanna interrupt."

"No no, it's fine, really!" Carol insisted cheerily. "Come in, please. I'm just doin' a casserole, it can wait."

"Thank you," Beth obliged. She stepped over the threshold, entering the small trailer and reflexively gazing around while Carol shut the door behind her.

It was a double-wide trailer, which meant it was a bit more spacious and had more bedrooms, but it still had the same basic layout as every other mobile home that ever existed. The living room was in the center, small and square, with the kitchen off to the right, the two rooms separated by a half-wall and a length of countertops. Beige carpet, beige wallpaper, and white linoleum. Off to the left was a narrow hallway that led to four different doors—three bedrooms and a bathroom.

Beth had been inside a few different trailer houses in her life. In fact, she'd had a best friend in third grade who lived in this very trailer park, though they'd moved away before junior high. And all those other trailers had always been a little… run-down. There was always clutter and random clothes strewn about, lots of mismatched furniture shoved in wherever it would fit, an array of mysterious stains on the carpet and linoleum, and a smell that seemed to be a mixture of rotting wood, body odor, and mildew.

But this trailer was different. The outside appearance had already told Beth that someone put excessive care into making this mobile house a home, and the inside only affirmed that inference. The carpet had a lot of random stains, but it was obviously clean and vacuumed, and the furniture all looked to be from the same set. There was a couch and a loveseat and even a recliner, all crowded around a 32-inch flatscreen and a dark wood entertainment center. There was a nice coffee table sitting in the middle, decorated with a potted succulent in the center and a few drink coasters. A fluffy dog bed sat against the wall near the hallway, and it was covered in German Shepherd hair. The kitchen was impeccable, white linoleum nearly sparkling despite its signs of age and wear, and there was a small circular table with four dining chairs sat in the center, as well as a dog's food-and-water dish shoved into the corner. A bit of a tight fit, but it seemed to work. The smell that filled the home was nothing less than pleasant and inviting—like a mixture of cinnamon, citrus fruits, and freshly-brewed coffee.

The details that caught Beth's attention had nothing to do with cleanliness or matching furniture, though. Her eyes were lingering over the various framed photos hung on the walls and sitting atop the surfaces of bookcases and DVD racks. Pictures of Carol and her daughter in different locations; a few pictures of Carol and Daryl, and a few more of all three of them; a handful of pictures containing Carol and what could only be her family, as well as some that were just her daughter in various stages of life. And one photo of Daryl and Merle.

Admittedly, it was a bit jarring to see Merle in a photograph. Alive. With a genuine smile on his face. His arm around Daryl—the perfect image of "brothers."

Sometimes, as odd as it was to think about, Beth had to remind herself that Merle had been alive at one point. For a long time, actually. Half a damn century, to be exact. She'd already grown so used to only knowing him as a ghost, a man long deceased. But he'd died barely a month ago…

"Were you planning on stayin' fer dinner?" Carol asked, jolting Beth out of her thoughts. "I dunno if Daryl's told you about it, but he claims I make the best tuna casserole in Georgia."

She chuckled and Beth smiled politely, shaking her head. "Thank you for the invitation, but I can't. My sister's in town this weekend, so we try to have dinner as a family whenever we can."

Carol nodded in understanding. "Well, the offer's always on the table. Your sister lives in Atlanta, right?"

Beth nodded. "Thanks. And yeah. She doesn't have time to come home very often these days."

"Reckon that's the downside to havin' a career," Carol said, smiling.

"Yeah, I guess I always kinda expected her to move away and start her own life, though," Beth said. She glanced pointedly towards one of the photos of Carol's daughter. "Don't you have a daughter?"

"I do," Carol beamed, her eyes lighting up at the mention. "Her name's Sophia. She's at her friend's sleepover tonight."

"Oh, darn," Beth said. "I was hopin' to meet her. Daryl's told me a little, but not much."

Carol chuckled softly. "Sounds like him. You want anything to drink? Water? Tea? I just made a pot of coffee if yer interested."

"Water would be great," Beth said. "Thank you."

"Gotcha." Carol walked off towards the kitchen and Beth followed hesitantly.

She watched the older woman open the fridge and retrieve a bottle of water, stepping back and handing it over to her. Beth took it and drank gratefully, and before she could start to feel awkward, Carol was gesturing for her to have a seat at the table. So she did. And Carol took the seat beside her, where a mug of milky coffee was already sitting atop the table.

Beth didn't have a chance to shift uncomfortably where she sat, or rack her brain for what to say next. Because Carol immediately jumped into more formalities, a warm smile plastered to her face the whole time. And it appeared genuine. She seemed almost eager to sit down and chat with the girl who was being haunted by Daryl's dead brother.

"It's so good to finally meet you in person," Carol said. She wrapped both hands around her coffee mug, taking a small sip but keeping her eyes on Beth. "Daryl showed me some pictures, but I think we both know that's not quite the same as seein' somebody with your own eyes." She laughed softly.

Beth smiled back, a bit confused. "He showed you pictures? Of me?"

Carol nodded. "Yeah. I think they were just Facebook pictures, but still."

Beth could feel her cheeks growing warm and she quickly took another swig of water. He'd looked up her Facebook profile just to show his roommate/best friend some photos of what she looked like? That was… something.

"I was just curious ta know what you looked like," Carol added. "I pestered him enough. Wouldn't even tell me your name until yesterday. He can be so secretive sometimes." She chuckled, shaking her head and speaking light-heartedly.

Beth nodded and agreed awkwardly. "Yeah, he sure can." She was starting to wonder when Merle would pop up. That was his _thing_, after all—appearing out of nowhere and startling her at the most inopportune moments. Surely he had some crass comments to make about Daryl's best friend? "But I guess it's kind of a given that he'd be secretive about this. About _us_."

Carol shrugged. "Well yeah, it made sense once he explained it. Not like Merle ever liked me, so I understand why Daryl would be hesitant about opening up." She rolled her eyes and added nonchalantly, "I mean, that and the whole 'dead brother appearing to a stranger with news of a demon deal' aspect." She chuckled, but it was audibly tenser than usual.

Beth's smile faded and she looked back at Carol with a hint of suspicion. "What all did he tell you?"

Carol took a sip of coffee and explained, "Barely anything, at first. I'll admit, I pestered him a bit because I could tell somethin' was bothering him. Took him another night before he'd sit down and actually talk about what y'all found out—what you saw at that cabin in Florida." She paused. A smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth and she added, "I didn't start gettin' _really_ suspicious until I caught him throwing out his gator skin boots."

Beth snickered, remembering how fond Daryl had been of that huge alligator. "He told you about Tabitha?"

Carol laughed. "Oh yeah. He was _itchin'_ to tell me about that part. I found him digging through his closet the next day—I guess he felt _terrible_ about owning a pair of gator skin boots. He donated 'em to Goodwill, but I'm pretty sure he wanted to burn 'em."

Beth briefly imagined Daryl frantically digging through his closet and mumbling about Tabitha. The two women shared a laugh at that.

Then Beth sombered as she thought of all they'd learned at Morgan's cabin. She asked warily, "Did he tell you about my… _Gift_?"

Carol nodded, lips pursed uncertainly.

"And you believe him? You believe _me_? Like… fully? You don't think I'm just some crazy farm girl that's seeing things an' tryin' to drag Daryl down with me?"

Carol frowned and met Beth's gaze with intent. "Of course I believe him. And if believing him means believing you, then yeah. It's not like you could've made all this crap up." She shrugged and added, "Daryl wouldn't lie to me, and he's not the naive type. And he's never believed in all this stuff—the religion and the ghosts and… everything else. Not till he met _you_ a few days ago. That alone tells me everythin' I need to know."

Beth blinked, a bit dumbfounded. Convincing Rick Grimes that she wasn't a doped-out lunatic was one thing, but meeting a woman who had no doubt that she was telling the complete truth was another. Not having to go through the routine of trying to explain how and why her Gift existed wasn't something she'd expected. Daryl had already done all the emotional labor, she knew. So this wasn't really her victory to claim.

Nonetheless, it was a relief. Just to know that someone understood. That someone could fathom it as a possibility without assuming it was some poorly-written M. Night Shyamalan knock-off fantasy.

Carol chuckled and asked, "_Are_ you just some crazy farm girl who's tryin' to drag Daryl down with you?"

Beth quickly shook her head. "No—no, of course not. I wanna help him. Any way that I can."

"Okay then," Carol said simply. "I can't imagine why you'd ever lie about such a thing, anyway. I believe you, Beth."

There was an awkward beat. Beth took a sip of her water.

Then Carol asked, "Is he here?" She glanced around warily. "With us?"

"Merle?"

Carol nodded.

Beth smirked. "No. He was here fer a second before you answered the door, but he's already told me how much he doesn't like you. He disappeared. I think he just doesn't like accepting the fact that his baby brother has friends that he doesn't approve of."

Carol wagged a finger in agreement. "You're exactly right." She shook her head. "That Merle was always stubborn as a damn mule. He didn't like anyone that got close to his brother. Not me, not Dwight, and _certainly_ not Rick."

Beth furrowed her brow. "Dwight?" She recalled the man she'd seen at the bar on the very first day she'd approached Daryl. "Is that the blond guy? With the burns on his face?"

Carol nodded. "Yeah. They work together. He's a good guy. The burns are from a house fire several years back. He's lucky to be alive. Merle hated him from the second he dared to offer Daryl a steady job."

"Oh," Beth said quietly.

"I know Daryl loved Merle," Carol went on. "And I know Merle loved him back just the same. But I don't think Daryl realizes that people like his brother show love in a _different_ way—a more toxic, harmful, _selfish_ way. People like Merle get stuck in their ways, and they fight back against any sorta positive change. I think he was always a little scared of losing Daryl entirely. Too bad he couldn't realize _he_ was the one pushin' Daryl away in the first place."

"_The relationship between two brothers is something more complicated than you or I could ever understand, but it should not be underestimated," _Lady Jadis's words echoed in Beth's head.

"Yeah," Beth muttered, absorbing the other woman's words. "I think you're right."

Okay. So this lady got it. She was no stranger to the fact that _Dixons ain't turnips_. That was a good sign.

"Shit," Carol huffed out, leaning forward and resting her elbows on the table while she remained turned towards Beth. "I can only imagine what kinda hell you've been goin' through this week. Havin' to listen to Merle and fix all his mistakes."

Beth let out a tired sigh and lamented, "You have no idea. He doesn't eat, he doesn't sleep, and he doesn't ever_ shut up_. I'm startin' to think I'm being punished."

They shared a laugh at that and Carol remarked, "You're not bein' punished. You're a good girl—I can tell. You've just been thrown into a shitty situation."

"_Hm_," Beth hummed thoughtfully, glancing down to the water bottle clasped in her hand. "I guess so. To put it simply." She paused before adding, "But I'm not supposed to fix all Merle's mistakes. That's _his_ job. I'm just the middle man."

"That's another way to put it," Carol said flatly. "But don't go downplaying what yer doing, Beth. It certainly isn't easy."

Before Beth could respond, the sound of boots and anxious paws pulled her attention towards the front door. Carol looked too, just in time to see Daryl and Dog entering. Daryl shut the door behind him and watched Dog rush off to his water bowl before lifting his head to acknowledge the two women sitting at the kitchen table.

"Well, y'all met. Ain't keepin' nobody _secret_," he said, looking at Beth pointedly and then turning his gaze on Carol. "Should I be worried?"

Dog rushed over to Beth and nudged her leg with his nose. She happily ruffled the fur on his head and scratched him behind his ears. He gave her hands a thorough sniffing, then licked her fingers and pushed his furry head back into her palms for more scratches.

Carol chuckled. "About what? That we might get along _too_ well?"

Beth smirked and watched Daryl roll his eyes and step over to plop himself down on the couch. "Sum'n like that."

Dog saw Daryl sitting down and quickly abandoned Beth to trot over and hop onto the couch beside his owner.

"We were just talkin' about how insufferable Merle can be," Beth said. "Kinda nice ta have somebody to relate with when it comes to dealing with your brother."

Daryl grunted. Carol chimed in with her agreement, "I was tellin' her how he never liked me and how bad I feel for her that she has to put up with him when no one else has to hear the shit he says."

"We all know he was a fuckin' dickhead," Daryl muttered, patting Dog's head and leaning forward to grab the TV remote off the coffee table. "Ain't gotta have a fuckin' _conference_ about it."

"Okay," Carol mediated. "No need to get defensive. We weren't talking _trash_ about him. We were just relating."

Suddenly, a cold shiver ran down Beth's spine.

"Funny, 'cause it sure sounded like trash talk ta _me_."

She whipped her head around to see Merle leaning against the fridge, arms crossed over his chest and a heavy scowl on his face. He was glaring daggers at the back of Carol's head, then his eyes flicked over and met Beth's.

"Didn't yer daddy ever teach ya it ain't _right_ to speak ill of the dead?" He said bitterly.

But before Beth could say anything, Dog leapt off the couch and started barking. He was staring straight at Merle, baring his teeth and growling in between loud _woof_s.

Merle just laughed, standing up straight and taunting the animal. "Wha'samatter, ol' boy? Ain'tcha ever seen a _ghost_ before?"

Daryl hopped up from the couch and tried to calm Dog down, grabbing him by the scruff and struggling to be heard over the barking. Carol looked back and forth from the German Shepherd to the fridge in confusion. Then she turned and noticed how Beth was frowning at seemingly thin air.

"He's here, isn't he?" The older woman guessed.

Beth merely nodded.

Daryl gave up and started urging Dog towards the front door. Merle was still laughing as he watched his living brother practically shove the German Shepherd outside, going along with him, and shut the door behind them.

"Bark all ya want, I ain't goin' nowhere," Merle hollered. "I was here _first_, ya fuckin' mutt!"

She was about to apologize and excuse herself so she could try and shoo Merle away, but then her phone started vibrating with an incoming call. She pulled it from her pocket and glanced at the caller ID: _Shawn_.

"I'm sorry, it's my brother, I have ta take this," she told Carol, who simply nodded in understanding.

Beth walked over to the other side of the living room and slid the green button across her phone screen before putting it up to her ear.

"Hello?"

"Hey, you still in town with Daryl an' Rick?" Shawn's voice sounded strained, and she could hear rushing wind and the distinct rumbling of his truck's engine in the background.

"No, I was actually about to head back," she said. "Why? Is everythin' okay?"

Shawn sighed, audibly frustrated. "Well, I'm on my way to the grocery store with a truckload of pumpkins an' I just got a call from the Morrisons sayin' they saw one of our steers runnin' loose."

"Crap," Beth muttered. "Where's Maggie?"

"She's clear out on the other side of the property with Glenn and the horses, they ain't even got 'em back to the stables yet," he explained. "So I really need you ta get back home an' check the fences 'fore anybody else sneaks out. I got Ernie out lookin' fer the escapee right now, but he's gotta head home after that."

"Okay, I can do that," Beth agreed. "I thought you checked the fences this mornin', though?"

"I didn't have time," Shawn admitted with aggravation. "Thought I could let it go fer one goddamn day, but I guess I shoulda known better. I spent the whole morning tryin' to finish up the hay bales. First freeze is gonna be here 'fore we know it. Otis usually checks the fences, but…"

"Yeah, I got it," she said. "Don't worry, I'll take care of it. If you need help with the hay bales, I can finish 'em up after church tomorrow."

"Yer _volunteering_ to throw bales?" Shawn scoffed. "That's a first."

Beth rolled her eyes. "If you'd rather do it yerself—"

"Don't be a brat," he scolded. "'Course I need yer help. Maybe you could get yer new _boyfriend_ ta come chip in a little, too. Looks like he could throw a few dozen bales without much problem."

"I'm gonna hang up now. I'll call you when I find the break in the fence."

Shawn laughed but Beth was already ending the call. She shoved the phone back into her pocket and walked over to the kitchen, where Carol had stood up and started gathering utensils and ingredients for preparing dinner. Merle had disappeared, but Dog could still be heard barking loudly outside.

"I have ta get back home an' help catch a loose steer," Beth explained. "But it was really nice meetin' you. Thanks for having me, and um—_believing_ me. It means a lot."

Carol smiled warmly. "No problem. It was nice meeting you too, Beth. I hope it won't be the last time you come around."

Beth returned the smile, though it was a bit stiff. "Hopefully it won't be."

Carol nodded. "Well, for what it's worth: I think you an' Daryl could be really _good_ friends."

But Beth had too much on her mind at the moment to contemplate the tone of Carol's voice. So she just smiled awkwardly and rushed out the front door.

Merle was nowhere to be seen. Or heard.

**to be continued…**

* * *

**A/N: **chapters 7-10 of the podfic are now available for listening :) check out this fic on AO3 for the link!


	61. Steer You in the Right Direction

**Steer You in the Right Direction**

Once Daryl had calmed Dog down and gotten him back inside the trailer with Carol, Beth explained that she needed to get home and help her brother with an important task. So Daryl hopped onto the motorcycle and took her home. They didn't speak a word past that, even though she was preparing herself for some kind of comment or question. But he didn't seem to have anything to say.

At least, not yet.

The sun was beginning its descent towards the horizon by the time they pulled up to the farmhouse. Beth directed Daryl around to the side of the property, asking him to drop her off by the little white Suzuki mini-truck that they used for tending to the cattle. He did so wordlessly. The rumble of his bike made all the nearby cows scatter away from the gate, _moo_ing loudly the whole time.

She climbed off the back of the motorcycle and slipped her helmet off, handing it over to Daryl and pausing where she stood as he took it.

"Thanks for the ride," she said, speaking up over the roar of the motor. "Text me tomorrow?"

He gave a clipped nod and she turned away, accepting that it was all the response she was going to get. She started walking towards the Suzuki with intent. She was already plotting out the route she was going to take in order to check all the perimeter fences, hoping she could finish with enough time left to start dinner so Maggie wouldn't have to worry about it. And Shawn would probably be back in about an hour, so…

Beth didn't even realize the motorcycle had gone silent until Daryl's voice reached her ears, crisp and clear.

"You want some help?"

She stopped and spun around. He had kicked down the kickstand and was already climbing off the bike, watching her expectantly while he pocketed his keys. He hesitated, ready to turn around and get back on the motorcycle if she declined.

But she was too pleasantly surprised to do such a thing. She paused, glancing around and expecting Merle to pop up at any second. Then a long moment passed with no sign of the dead Dixon. And she realized Daryl was still awaiting her answer.

"You sure?" Beth asked. "Carol was about to start makin' dinner."

Daryl shrugged. "She can wait. 'S just tuna casserole again."

Beth huffed out a soft laugh of disbelief. "So yer not mad at me?"

"Why would I be mad at ya?" He grumbled, taking a couple steps closer and eyeballing the Suzuki truck. "We're past it now—yeah? You met Carol, she knows as much as yer sister. Ain't no more _secrets_. Got no reason ta keep complainin'."

Beth rolled her eyes and turned away to continue walking to the truck. "Sure, whatever."

He grunted but she didn't glance back to acknowledge him. A second later, he was approaching the passenger side of the white mini-truck while she climbed into the driver side and retrieved the keys from the glovebox.

"Where's yer brother?" Daryl asked, lowering himself into the passenger side seat and tucking his long legs beneath the dash.

"Makin' a delivery in town," Beth replied. She started up the engine and shifted into Drive before speeding off towards the dirt road a few yards away.

"And Maggie?"

"Exercising the horses on the other side of the property."

"So what're we doin'?"

The Suzuki rumbled over uneven terrain, jolting them both in their seats. Daryl grasped the handle at the top of the door to steady himself.

"A steer got out," Beth explained. "One of the hands is trackin' it down, but I need ta find the break in the fence before anybody else goes wanderin' off."

"You gonna fix it?" He asked.

"Nah. Just gotta find it. Shawn will fix it."

"Got any tools in this truck?"

"Yeah. Just the basics. A hammer, a few nails, some boards. Prob'ly not enough."

"Might be. I've repaired a few dozen fences before."

Beth scoffed. "I _know_ how to repair a fence."

"Wasn't implyin' you don't," Daryl grunted. "Jus' tryn'a help."

She wasn't sure why, but she suddenly felt very offended. And defensive. She snapped back, "Well I appreciate it, but I don't _need_ your help. The farm is _my_ problem, not yours. You have enough ta worry about."

"Christ," he muttered. "I ain't Merle, you ain't gotta talk to me like that."

Beth snapped her lips shut and immediately felt bad. She knew she shouldn't be lashing out at Daryl like this—it wasn't _his_ fault. But she couldn't help feeling frustrated and a bit overwhelmed. She knew he wasn't trying to underestimate her, or accuse her of being incapable, but between dealing with Shawn and Merle and trying to process all the emotions that came with being Gifted… well, she was about at the end of her rope. Not to mention, he'd been so rude about her meeting his best friend, and though she probably _shouldn't_ take it personally, she was _definitely_ taking it personally.

It kinda friggin' _hurt_ that he could be ashamed of her. Ashamed of what they were experiencing together. Ashamed that they even associated with one another. Did he actually consider her a friend, or was that another pity play? Why else would he be so reluctant about allowing her to meet Carol? He was clearly embarrassed by Beth. By what she could do and how they were involuntarily connected. He felt he had to _protect_ Carol from her… is that what it had come to? Was she a threat to the life he'd worked so hard to build for himself? Was she nothing more than a dark reminder of the person he didn't want to be? The person he'd always been in his brother's presence?

"Sorry," she mumbled shamefully, keeping her eyes straight ahead even as she felt Daryl glancing over at her. "I didn't mean to snap at you, I just kinda feel like—"

But she was cut off by the sound of her phone ringing. She'd switched the ringer back on as soon as they left Carol's house, just in case her brother called with any updates.

She took a sharp right turn and started driving along the edge of the perimeter fence at the side of the road before reaching into her pocket and retrieving her phone. A quick glance at the screen told her it was Shawn. She slid her finger across the green Accept button and tapped the Speaker button so she could focus on driving while holding her phone.

"Yeah?"

"Hey, you back home yet?"

"Just got here, I'm drivin' the perimeter now. What's up?"

Shawn sighed in exasperation. "I thought you said you were on yer way back half an hour ago?"

"I was," Beth said. "It jus' took a little bit to get back. I was clear on the other side of town."

"Dammit, Beth. Hurry up an' find the break 'fore the whole fuckin' herd gets loose, would'ja?!"

She bit her tongue, tensing up and pressing down on the accelerator a little harder than necessary. "I am, don't worry about it. Just hurry up an' finish yer stupid delivery."

Shawn started to argue back but she abruptly ended the call and dropped her phone into the cupholder between the seats. She gripped the steering wheel with both hands and kept her eyes on the fence, searching for signs of damage while she struggled to stifle her frustration.

But Daryl could sense her tension, and of course, he'd heard the tone in her brother's voice from over the phone. He glanced over at her warily, but she tried to ignore him. For the first time all day, she was wishing he'd stayed home.

"What's his problem?"

Beth tensed and shook her head. "Nothing. Just farm stuff."

"I know it gets stressful, but that ain't no reason ta be a dick," Daryl commented. "He seemed pretty cool when I met 'im the other night—he always talk ta you like that?"

"Of course not," she said, furrowing her brow and keeping her eyes set on the fence. "He's just stressed… we all are."

"Still ain't no reason ta be a dick," he mumbled.

She snapped back, "How is it any of _your_ business? That's my _brother_—you don't even know him."

Daryl shot her a scowl and retorted, "Guess we can relate on that part then."

Beth resisted the urge to roll her eyes and heave a dramatic sigh. Instead, she gritted her teeth and tried to focus on inspecting the fence while she drove along the side of the road.

"That's different," she said. "You can't compare my brother to yours."

"Oh yeah?" Daryl countered. "An' why's that?"

"Because," Beth argued, her voice rising and growing defensive. "My brother works his freaking _ass_ off every single day of the year. He doesn't treat people like shit just for laughs like Merle does. Shawn gets irritating and annoying, but it's always for a good reason—like because he _cares_. Or because he's worried, or overwhelmed. Or because he does everything he can to keep this farm running an' it's still not _enough_."

Daryl was rendered silent at that. Beth could see him blinking and frowning in her periphery, giving her an awkward glance before looking away, almost as though he were ashamed to have said anything. She hoped he was—ashamed, that is.

Because how _dare_ he compare Shawn to Merle.

Then he mumbled, "How come?"

She hesitated, unsure of his question. "What d'you mean?"

"How come it's not enough?"

Beth huffed out a humorless laugh, shrugging. "I can't answer that. It just… isn't. We all do what we can, but my dad's gettin' old, and he always kept this place in order. And he can't do that anymore. So it's up to us. And running a whole farm is, like…_ a lot_ of work."

"Well no shit," Daryl said. "Isn't that what the farmhands are for?"

Beth scoffed. "Yeah, if only we had enough. We've hired all that we can afford, but the taxes are gettin' expensive and there's only so much you can get done with three hands workin' six—sometimes seven—days a week."

"Y'all only got three hands fer this whole place?" Daryl asked, baffled.

"We had five when I was in high school," she explained. "But that was when Daddy still had his business and Mama was… healthy. And Maggie was still here to help. Otis and his wife were always willin' to work for a little less 'cause we help them out in other ways, and it's helped _us_ a lot the past few years, but now they're out for the next two months or more 'cause of Patricia's back surgery. So we're pretty much up shit creek without a paddle. My dad relies on me an' Shawn to pull most of the weight."

"Barely makin' ends meet since yer mom's medical bills?" Daryl guessed.

"And the funeral costs," Beth confirmed. "My dad tried ta revive his veterinarian business after she died, but there just wasn't any time for it outside of the farm duties. Then his doctor said he was literally workin' himself to death—he just doesn't have the stamina he had ten years ago. He doesn't even have the stamina he had _five_ years ago. He's gettin' really old…"

_He's dying, _she almost said. But she didn't. Because it wasn't true. No matter what Shawn said. She refused to accept it.

"Maggie took her job in Atlanta an' helped pay off some of the debts. But she couldn't afford to drive back an' forth between here and the city all the time, and we still don't have enough to hire more help. So everything ended up fallin' on Shawn's shoulders. He's been doin' the work of three people fer the last few years."

"Sucks," Daryl said. "But still ain't no excuse ta be takin' it out on you, like you ain't doin' everythin' you can. State of the economy ain't yer fault."

Beth scoffed and shook her head, still refusing to meet Daryl's gaze. "No one said it was. He doesn't get irritated because he _blames_ me. Stop tryin' to make my brother out ta be some kinda villain. He's a _saint_ compared to Merle—hell, he's a saint, _period_."

"'M not tryin' ta compare nobody," Daryl argued, shifting in his seat and wrapping his hand a little tighter around the 'oh shit' handle when they rumbled over a mound of rocks. "I already know Shawn's a saint, whether we was comparin' him ta Merle or not. Don't need you rubbin' it in my face how much better your brother is than mine."

"You're the one that asked," Beth countered. "Don't get mad at _me_ for statin' facts."

Daryl huffed out a sigh and grumbled something under his breath that she couldn't hear. She gave it a few seconds, expecting him to speak up with something else. Maybe an apology, maybe another argument. But he just turned his head and gazed out the window to inspect the fence.

She wasn't sure why she suddenly felt so angry—probably a combination of all the pent-up emotions that she couldn't express without fear of repercussion. But before she could stop herself, she was speaking sharply, giving an explanation that she knew wasn't necessary. Yet whether she was explaining it to Daryl or to herself, she wasn't totally sure.

"You can think whatever you want about my brother, but you don't _know_ him. He's being an asshole because he's exhausted and overwhelmed. We're comin' off bailing season and I don't think he's slept more than three or four hours a _night_ over the last _two weeks_. On top of that, he's had to oversee all the harvesting on the vegetables an' make sure everything's winterized. All the fields've been gettin' plowed an' rotated, and he has to make sure it's all done before the first freeze comes. It's gonna be cold before we know it and we can't be caught unprepared, or else the whole place will go under. That's a lot to worry about, especially when yer goin' off basically no sleep. He barely has time to _eat_. So yeah, if he comes off as kind of a _dick_ right now, it's for good reason." She paused and added, "Not that I _owe you_ an explanation. I just don't want you gettin' the wrong idea about Shawn. He does his best."

Daryl simply grunted, still staring out the window. "So what'cher sayin' is y'all need help."

Beth sighed. "If we could _afford_ it."

"Yeah, I know what it's like ta not be able to afford the help ya need. But—"

"Oh, look!" She cut him off abruptly when her eyes fell upon the open gate up ahead. She was eager for a change of subject anyway. "There it is! No broken fence—just an open gate."

Their conversation was quickly dropped and forgotten as she slammed on the accelerator and sped up to the open gate. She stopped the truck and climbed out while Daryl did the same.

"That's it? One open gate?" He asked. "You sure?"

She stepped forward and inspected the area. He followed, shoving his hands in his pockets and gazing off towards the open field curiously.

"Yeah, this is definitely it," she confirmed. She gestured to her left, pointing off in a vague direction. "'Cause the Morrisons live down that way an' that's who called Shawn ta let him know they saw our steer. Plus, we just reinforced all the fences like, three weeks ago." Then she paused and took a few steps forward into the grass, walking until she could see more of her family's land. "But it's still weird 'cause there's another gate before this one, and both of 'em should've been closed."

"Can ya see it from here?" Daryl asked.

"Hold on," Beth said. She jogged across the grass until she was a couple yards away. Her eyes landed on the inner gate—it was open, too.

_What the hell? _She thought, jogging the rest of the way to the gate and inspecting the area. Nothing was broken or misplaced. It just looked like someone had carelessly left the gate open. But that didn't make sense, because she'd gone with Shawn to feed the cattle this morning and he _always_ made sure to double-check every single gate before he finished. Ever since the incident when he was ten years old and he'd left a gate open and over a dozen cows had escaped. He was very adamant about never having to go through that again.

She returned to Daryl, breathless and perspiring from her little jog, to find him standing by the outer gate and waiting patiently. She shot him a quizzical frown before shutting the gate tightly and double-checking that it was firmly locked.

"I don't get it," she said. "_Both_ gates were open, but me an' Shawn fed the cattle earlier and I know he shut all the gates. He _always_ does. He's downright anal about it."

Daryl shrugged, following her back to the Suzuki and climbing inside. "Maybe he forgot. Sleep deprivation can really fuck ya up."

Beth shook her head as she started up the truck and gave the gates one last look, pondering the possibilities. "I don't think so. Daddy gave him the whoopin' of his life the last time he left a gate open. Not even exhaustion could make him forget somethin' like that." Then she sighed in resignation and pressed down on the accelerator, whipping the truck around and heading back towards the house. "I dunno. It's weird. Maybe Ernie was out here earlier an' got distracted or somethin'."

"Maybe," Daryl grunted.

They drove silently for a few moments. He gazed out the window and chewed on his thumbnail while she racked her brain for an answer.

Then Daryl asked, "Where's Merle?"

_That's a good question,_ Beth thought. _Where __**is**__ Merle? And where did he go while I was meeting Carol?_

She was starting to think she might know how those two gates had been mysteriously left open.

* * *

Beth drove them back and left the Suzuki mini-truck in its usual spot before walking Daryl to his bike. He pulled out his keys and climbed on while she stood a few feet away, arms crossed over her chest as she watched him prepare to leave.

"He back yet?" Daryl asked, glancing around.

She shook her head. "No. Not yet."

He _hmph_ed and kicked up the kickstand, sticking his key into the ignition.

"So what's the plan?" She asked. "Fer tomorrow?"

He shrugged, peering at her through a fringe of dark hair. "Figured I'd text ya whenever Rick lets me know what's up."

"So are we takin' the day off?"

"Ain't it _The Lord's Day_ or whatever?"

Beth rolled her eyes, but a smile was tugging at the corner of her mouth. "Yeah, I got church, but that's it."

Daryl shrugged again. "Can't do much till we talk to the judge lady, an' Rick made it sound like we won't be able to meet her till Monday at the earliest. Reckon you need a day off anyhow."

"I guess so," she mumbled.

It _would_ be nice, but she already knew there were no days off when it came to Merle. He would just be pestering her all day, and he'd probably be pissed that she wasn't going out and trying to gather fingerprints or look for hidden clues or something.

"So I'll see ya Monday," the living Dixon said. "Hopefully."

She nodded and smiled meekly. "Yeah. Hopefully." Then he started up the motorcycle and revved the engine, and she spoke up over the loud roar to add, "Drive safe, Daryl."

He gave a nod of reciprocation before lifting both feet and taking off in the opposite direction. A moment later, Beth watched him disappear down the road, nothing but the echo of his bike's engine and a cloud of dust in his wake.

And it was the weirdest thing, but… she was kind of _sad_ that she didn't have a reason to see him tomorrow.

**to be continued…**

* * *

**A/N: **Happy one year anniversary to this fic! :) Didn't realize it when I posted the last chapter, but it has officially been one year since I started writing and posting this. We're getting close to the conclusion. Hope y'all are still enjoying!


	62. Be The Karma You Want To See In The Worl

**Be The Karma You Want To See In The World**

As soon as the distant sound of Daryl's motorcycle faded away in the distance, Beth retreated inside the farmhouse. She texted Shawn, "_No break, just an open gate_" and he responded thirty seconds later with "_thx_." She went upstairs briefly to put her purse in her bedroom, and while she was walking down the hallway, she stopped at the closed door to her dad's room.

She knocked lightly and listened for the muffled "come in" before pushing the door open and peering inside. Hershel was lying atop the duvet on his bed, fully dressed except for his shoes, with his hands folded over his belly. He opened his eyes and gave Beth a soft smile.

"Daddy, are you feelin' okay?" She asked, looking him over with concern and stepping closer.

"I'm fine, Bethy," he assured. "I was just havin' a little rest. Feelin' weak today."

She knew what that meant: it was code for "having a bad day." Because for the last few years, he'd started having days where he simply couldn't do much at all. Bad days, when just the act of standing or staying awake was too much exertion. So he would lie down and rest, though he always refused to spend the entire day in bed. Even if he didn't walk anywhere else but around the yard and through the house. Even though that much activity seemed to take its toll all the same. He claimed he was just "feeling weak." But…

_He's getting so old. He's dying,_ Beth thought.

Her stomach knotted up and very suddenly, she was overcome with the urge to sit down and pour her heart out to her father. She wasn't sure why.

Of course, that was a terrible idea. It wasn't like telling him about her Gift and fessing up to her week's worth of lies would fix anything or make anyone feel better. So she shoved it back and forced a smile. He hated it when she worried.

"Well I was about to get dinner started," Beth said. "Are you gonna come eat with us in a little bit?"

"Absolutely," Hershel smiled. "Call me when it's ready. I'm starvin'."

She nodded and slipped back out the door, shutting it quietly behind her.

A few minutes later, she was in the kitchen, preparing dinner and anxiously awaiting Merle's inevitable return. The silence and the _aloneness_ were almost jarring, because when was the last time she'd gotten this much time to herself? Surely it wouldn't last long.

In a way, she didn't like it. It gave her too much time to think back over everything she'd learned, everything she'd seen, everything she'd felt… And the more she thought about all that stuff, the heavier the weight upon her shoulders grew. Merle and The Governor and Dale and Irma and oh, Daryl's poor mama… Papa Legba waiting at every turn, ready to snatch Beth's soul all for himself…

She also couldn't help but overthink her conversations with Daryl and second-guess herself. Maybe she _had_ been too harsh. Now that she had a little retrospect, she could see why Daryl was getting upset about how much she bagged on Merle. That was his only brother, after all. And he wasn't just hearing it from her, he was also hearing it from Carol and Rick and basically everyone who'd ever met Merle. He'd probably _been _hearing it for years. She could understand how that might get irritating after a while.

And she'd gotten so defensive about Shawn after no more than a few comments… Damn. _Now_ who was the hypocrite? Beth was beginning to feel a bit embarrassed by how she'd acted. Maybe she should apologize, because Lord knew Daryl didn't deserve to be punished for his brother's faults. Nor did he deserve the brunt end of her frustration just because she was overwhelmed.

Yeah, she decided. She owed him an apology. It wasn't _his _fault she was at the end of her rope.

Then a chill ran down her spine.

"A woman in the kitchen, right where she belongs—now _that's_ what I love ta see."

Well, that was short-lived.

Beth glanced back over her shoulder to see Merle sitting at the kitchen table and wearing his usual smug smile. She ignored him and continued chopping vegetables.

"So what'd ya think, blondie?" He asked, completely unfazed by her cold shoulder. "Was Darylina's li'l _BFF_ all ya hoped she'd be?"

Beth huffed out a breath and replied quietly without turning around, "Didn't really get a chance to find out, thanks to you. Always interrupting 'cause yer _jealous_. It's kinda sad, really."

Merle cackled. "_Jealous_? That's cute. If anybody's jealous here, I think it's _you_. Wanted ta meet the competition, didn'tcha? Just admit it."

"I don't _have_ any competition," she said flatly. Then she shot him a glare from over her shoulder and muttered, "You opened those gates an' set that steer loose so I'd have to come home early, didn't you?"

He grunted indifferently. She chopped the vegetables a little harder than necessary, resentment and frustration tightening all her muscles.

"You was wastin' time," he said. "_Both_ y'all. I did you a favor, princess."

"A _favor_?" She snapped. "Yer nothin' but a _nuisance_."

His smug demeanor faded and he spoke firmly. "Why the hell you tryin' so hard ta get close to my brother? Huh? What you think yer gonna get outta that? Meetin' all his friends an' shit—'s just gonna make it _harder_."

"Make _what_ harder?"

"The _end_, dipshit. The day he says 'thanks fer savin' my soul, see ya around.' How many times I gotta drill it into that _thick skull_ a yers that there ain't gonna _be_ no happily ever after once ya get rid of me?"

Beth scoffed and blinked back tears. Where did _those_ come from? Why was she suddenly so upset? "You're so _stupid_."

Merle laughed coldly. "_I'm_ stupid? I'm not the one fallin' fer some dude who don't want nothin' ta do with me. Hell, I'd be surprised if Daryl's even _capable_ of lovin' a woman—let alone, a woman like _you_."

She had to fight back another onslaught of tears, though she still wasn't sure why. Since when did Merle's words actually mean anything to her? Why were they cutting so deep tonight?

"I think it's pretty clear you got no idea _what _Daryl's capable of," she argued. "And I'm startin' to think you never really knew him at all—in fact, I'm thinkin' that more an' more everyday—but you sure like to _act_ like you did."

She knew that hit the nerve she'd been aiming for because Merle went silent for a second. Then he sucked his teeth loudly and she refused to look back at him, focusing instead on the minced garlic between her fingers. But she could feel his eyes boring holes through the back of her head.

"You start gettin' a little power an' now ya think yer hot shit, huh?" He said, his voice low and menacing. "Best remember how it feels ta be standin' next ta that dreadlocked demon, sweetheart. 'Cause none a this shit is gonna mean a goddamn thing 'f yer too _lovestruck_ an' _cocky_ ta keep yer fuckin' head on straight."

Beth opened her mouth to spit back a retort, but the creak of the stairs outside the kitchen made her go silent and swallow her prepared words. And a couple seconds later, Hershel was entering the kitchen, leaning heavily on his old wooden cane.

She finally turned her head to meet his curious gaze and feigned a smile. He smiled back, though he was glancing around with a puzzled expression.

"Now I know that wasn't yer singin' I heard," he said. "Who were you talkin' to, Doodlebug?"

Merle let out an obnoxious laugh. "Fuckin' _Doodlebug_. What a nickname—and fer a grown woman who wants ta talk shit to a ghost." He laughed a little louder. "That always gets me!"

Beth quickly turned back to the vegetables in her hand. "Nobody, Daddy. I was just talkin' to myself."

* * *

By the time Maggie, Glenn, and Shawn returned home, washed up, and sat down for dinner with Hershel and Beth, the sun was rapidly sinking behind the horizon, leaving a burnt orange sky full of twinkling stars outside. They all sat in the dining room, conversing and eating the meal that Beth had prepared.

Merle was still present, and he seemed to be getting a kick out of making crude remarks from the corner of the room. He kept taking jabs at Beth's confidence and her "obvious crush on Darylina." But she was determined to ignore him and enjoy having dinner with her whole family for once. This was the last night she'd get to share the dinner table with her big sister until God knew when. She wasn't going to let some dead asshole ruin it.

The conversation around the table was smooth and congenial for the first half of the meal, mostly focused on Maggie's wedding plans, as they had been all weekend. Then Maggie started talking about her and Glenn's Halloween plans, which led to Hershel asking Shawn how the pumpkin delivery went, and shortly after that, Shawn mentioned the steer that had gotten loose while he was in town. Which led to him turning to Beth, fork in hand, and asking through a mouthful of food, "Y'said it was just an open gate?"

She nodded.

"Well who left it open?" Hershel asked, looking to Shawn.

Shawn frowned and said, "Sure as hell wasn't me." He looked at Beth expectantly. "Y'think it was Ernie?"

She wasn't about to blame one of their only reliable farmhands for Merle's mischief, so she quickly shook her head and lied, "No, I think it was my fault. I didn't double-check 'em when we fed the cattle this mornin'." She shot her father a pitiful look and added, "I'm sorry, Daddy. I know better—it won't happen again."

Shawn scoffed, but Hershel merely hummed.

"'S long as we got the steer back, no harm done," their father said.

Glenn chimed in innocently, "I heard Daryl's bike—did he come help you find the steer?"

Beth glanced over in time to see Maggie flashing Glenn a side-eye and nudging his leg under the table. He winced and shot her a clueless look, lips snapping shut.

"Daryl?" Shawn questioned, glaring across the table at Beth. "Thought you said you weren't with him when I called."

Beth rolled her eyes and looked down at her half-eaten meal. "You asked if I was still in town with him. I wasn't. He gave me a ride back an' offered ta help look for the break in the fence. What's it matter?"

"It matters 'cause it's _distracting_ you, Beth," Shawn insisted. "You leave the gate open 'cause you were too busy _daydreaming_ about Daryl?"

Maggie cut in, "Shut up, Shawn. It was _one_ open fence. You sound ridiculous right now—just let the poor girl live her life."

"I'd love to," Shawn snapped back, turning on his other sister. "But she's still got a life _here_, an' when she starts forgettin' about it, apparently I gotta step in and give 'er a _reality check_."

"I shouldn't have said anything," Glenn mumbled. He shot Beth an apologetic look. "I'm sorry, I didn't—"

"You got nothin' ta be sorry for," Maggie interjected, glaring pointedly at Shawn. "Beth's an _adult_, she shouldn't have to sneak around."

Shawn set his fork down hastily and said, "Nobody _said_ she has ta sneak around, but when she's one of the _three _people that's runnin' this whole goddamn farm, I need her to keep her fuckin' _head_ outta the clouds."

At that, Hershel cut in angrily, booming out with his Dad Voice, "_Language_! Can't I have _one_ dinner with y'all without an argument?"

Shawn quickly shut his mouth and looked down in shame. Maggie, Glenn, and Beth all did the same, and there was a chorus of mumbled "sorry"s around the table. Hershel heaved out a sigh, shaking his head.

"I know you've had a long season, Shawn," he said, his voice stern and fatherly. "And I know you have your own life to live, Beth. But this farm _always_ comes first. As does this _family_. We're all tired. We've all been overworked for the last several years. But that's no excuse to be talkin' to each other like _this_."

He paused and looked around at each of them, visibly disappointed. They all seemed to shrink beneath his gaze.

"Now let's change the subject," Hershel said. "I'd like to sit here and _enjoy_ this meal with my family. Things change quickly, so we should appreciate what we have in the moment."

Beth's shoulders hunched in shame. She was trying really hard to continue tuning Merle out, but based on his chuckles and muttered remarks, he was enjoying the show.

She wouldn't turn around or even glance in his direction, though she could hear him laughing. Cold and taunting.

"Didn't I _say_ I was doin' you a favor, blondie?"

* * *

Maggie kept shooting Beth looks that said "we need to talk" throughout dinner and afterwards, but they didn't get a chance to discuss any of the updates on Beth's Gift and the fate of Daryl's soul. Glenn hung around and helped them clean up the kitchen, and then they all spent about half an hour sitting together in the den and talking. Merle got bored when he realized he wasn't going to get any of the reactions he wanted out of Beth and disappeared, mumbling something about Daryl and "his dyke roommate."

Once Glenn and Shawn both started dozing off on the couch, Maggie decided it was time to call it a night, especially considering they all had to be up early enough to finish the morning chores and get ready for church. Hershel wasn't ready to go to bed yet though, and he bid them all goodnight while he remained in the den with the TV playing quietly and his feet propped up on the ottoman.

Beth stayed behind and sat close to her dad on the couch, watching one of his programs with him and enjoying the brief Merle-free moments. But after only one episode, Hershel yawned loudly and decided that it was time for bed. Beth volunteered to walk him up to his bedroom and tuck him in.

He moved slower than usual and she knew he would need some help getting ready for bed, as he usually did on his Bad Days. She didn't mind. She helped him slip his shoes off and made sure he had support while he changed into pajamas. Then she guided him carefully over to the bed and kept a close eye while he climbed in and slipped under the covers. There was a rocking chair in the corner that she pulled up to the side of the bed, intending to sit by and talk to him until he fell asleep. Like she usually did on his Bad Days.

Hershel hummed in contentment as he snuggled down into his pillow and looked over at Beth with heavy-lidded eyes. He smiled and she smiled back, reaching out and taking one of his weathered old hands in hers. For a brief second, she remembered Dale and his aged hands. But her father's were a lot different. A lot older, more calloused, more worn down from decades of hard work. And weak. He'd always had strong hands and a very firm grasp, but nowadays, he seemed to struggle just to keep a firm grasp on his cane.

"You're a good girl, Bethy," Hershel said, his voice quiet and sleepy. He patted her hand. "Don't you let yer brother get to you. He's just worried about the farm."

Beth gave his hand a squeeze. "I know, Daddy. It's okay. He's worried 'bout the farm… _and_ me."

Hershel chuckled. "He doesn't like seein' his baby sister grow up."

She smiled weakly.

"And neither do I," he admitted. "But that's part of life. Gettin' mad an' passin' judgment isn't gonna solve anything. I learned all those lessons from raisin' your sister."

Beth let out a soft laugh. "Yeah, I bet." Then she shrugged. "But you know how Shawn is. He's never liked anybody me or Maggie dated."

Hershel's eyebrows rose. "So you _are_ seeing Daryl?"

She rolled her eyes but it was too late, it had already slipped out. Her cheeks flushed red and she glanced away, embarrassed. "No, Dad. I didn't say that. We're just _friends_."

Hershel chuckled. "Whatever you say, Doodlebug." He reached up with his free hand and _boop_ed her on the nose affectionately. She giggled.

"He's too old fer me," she said, her smile fading as she grew serious again. "Besides, I don't have time ta go gettin' myself a boyfriend. Shawn's right—the farm comes first. That means you come first, too. And I know that."

Hershel shook his head. "No, no, c'mon now. Don't hold yerself back for the sake of your old dad. The farm might need you, but you can't keep isolating yourself, sweetheart. You've been so dedicated—and I love you for it, that's how I raised you ta be… But it broke my heart when I realized I hadn't seen you make a new friend since high school. It's partially my fault, I know. I let yer mama's condition—and my own grief—take precedence over everything, even you girls. I didn't pay attention when I should have…"

"Daddy, no," Beth cut him off. "It's _not_ your fault. Not at all. I didn't _mean_ to isolate myself, it just kinda… happened." She shrugged. "I don't need friends, anyway."

Hershel's face fell and he squeezed her hand tight. "Don't say that, babygirl. _Everyone_ needs friends. You can't make it through life all alone."

"I'm _not_ alone," she said. "I have you. And Shawn, and Maggie, and now Glenn. Sheriff Grimes is my friend, too."

"That's not what I mean, honey," he told her. "You need friends _outside_ the farm. As much as I love havin' you here, I could never forgive myself if you wasted yer whole life worryin' about me an' yer brother and not goin' out and making your own memories. Living your own life. I always had a feeling you'd do big things, Bethy. Bigger than any of us could ever imagine."

Beth found herself blinking back tears and she looked down, hoping he hadn't seen. "I don't _wanna_ do big things, Daddy. I just wanna… live a good life. Be a good person." She ran a fingertip over one of the deep lines on his hand. "I wanna help other people. That's all."

Hershel huffed out an amused breath. "And you don't think helpin' other people is the same as doin' big things?"

She shrugged awkwardly. "I guess it can be… sometimes…"

There was a beat of silence and she lifted her head to look at him, expecting to find him half-asleep. But he was fully awake. And he was gazing at her thoughtfully.

Then he whispered, "You're so much like your mama. Sometimes I gotta remind myself she's gone, 'cause I see her in you every single day…"

Beth shook her head and gave her father's hand a squeeze. "Stop it, Dad. Yer gonna make me cry."

He squeezed back. "I'm serious, Beth. All your mama ever wanted was to help people. That's what made her such a good nurse. And such a good mother." His eyes were getting watery and he blinked, a reminiscent smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "And such a good wife… She helped me more than I could ever tell ya. Josephine might've gotten me sober, but it was Annette who _kept_ me on the straight an' narrow."

Beth went silent and stared at her father, listening intently and trying to fight back the tears that wanted to build.

Then he sighed softly and closed his eyes. "She gave me _hope_. After I lost Josephine, I thought for sure I'd never be lucky enough to find love again. Then your mama found _me_…"

Beth smiled. She'd heard this story a million times already. But she never got tired of hearing it.

"I was a foolish man," he went on. "So pessimistic. I thought the Good Lord had given me what I deserved and that was that. I didn't wanna risk makin' another woman's life harder; didn't expect any decent woman to be willing ta take in a bitter old widower and his rambunctious little girl."

Beth perked up and stared at Hershel's closed eyelids with intrigue. She'd never heard _this_ part of the story.

"What d'you mean?" She asked softly. "Why'd you think the Lord had given you what you deserved? What'd you think you deserved, Daddy?"

Hershel shook his head, barely opening his eyes to meet Beth's with a twinge of shame. "I've told you how I wasn't the best man before your sister came along. The drinkin', the gamblin', the thievery—all them bad decisions that shoulda landed me in jail an' somehow never did."

She nodded, wide-eyed and attentive. "But you turned yerself around when you took over the farm. And then you met Josephine and had Maggie…" Yeah, she could recite the whole story. They all knew about their dad's redemption arc in life.

"I never told you about my father," he said, his tone becoming more somber. "What a cruel man he was… how much he hurt me, and how I turned around an' let all that hurt turn into anger and hatred. My pa wasn't a good person. Not by any means."

He met Beth's wide eyes and added, "He was just like Daryl's daddy. Lazy, abusive. A good-for-nothin' piece of crap. He made my life Hell. He had me convinced that there wasn't nothin' worth a damn in this world. So I kept all that anger and hurt inside… and I tried to punish the whole world fer my own suffering."

Beth furrowed her brow, listening intently. Sure, she'd heard very brief mentions here and there of her father's "younger days," back before he was a man of God, when he was still drinking away every penny he earned. But she'd never really known anything about how he was raised except that his dad was really strict and his mom was really complacent. Past that, it was always about how the "only good thing" his dad ever did was die and leave him the farm. She'd never thought to question it; she'd simply assumed the grandfather she'd never met had been cold and distant, like so many parents back in those days tended to be.

She couldn't have guessed he'd been abusive. Or _anything_ like Will DIxon.

"But the only person I was really punishing was myself," Hershel lamented. "It took me a long time to learn that I didn't have to think of myself as worthless just because that's how my father taught me to think. I missed out on a lotta rewarding relationships and experiences because I was jus' too damn stubborn… but then I took over this farm. I made a couple good friends. Joined the church. Met Maggie's mama. Became a father. Tried to repent for all the harm I'd done… Losin' Josephine put me back a bit. I almost lost my sobriety, if I'm bein' honest. 'Cause I thought I was finally reaping what I'd sowed fer all those years I turned my back on God."

"Like Karma had come back to bite you?" Beth guessed. "After all that time? Even though you were tryin' to be better?"

He snorted. "Yeah. Like Karma. Or some kinda _Divine Punishment_."

She kept listening, giving her dad's hand a gentle squeeze.

"Hell, I thought the sun would never shine again." He paused and chuckled, and she could see the wistful expression ghosting across his features. Heard the sudden uplift in his tone. "Then Annette came along… and she downright shoved herself into my life. Gave me no choice. But I'll tell ya what: I needed it. I needed somebody to tell me I was worth a damn, to pry open my foolish eyes and make me look around to see what'd been right in front of me all along. I needed somebody ta show me that love isn't a once-in-a-lifetime experience. She showed me that it's _everywhere_. That we ain't gotta bury it, 'cause it doesn't die. Not with the ones we gave that love to. Not _ever_…"

Beth didn't know what to say to all of this, so she didn't say anything.

Hershel let out a tired sigh and concluded almost dreamily, "Your mama was the sunlight when I thought the rest of my life would be cloudy."

All Beth could do was absorb her daddy's words and file them away in her mind. After the day she'd had, she wasn't sure if she was ready to explore the implication that came with his advice. She wasn't prepared to gaze into the mirror he was holding up for her.

"_He will be searching for a light amongst the darkness and he will find it lying within the Greene Farm."_

No, she wasn't ready to think about that. Not just yet. Not tonight.

A long moment of silence had passed and she was beginning to think he'd finally drifted off to sleep, but then he lifted his heavy eyelids and gazed over at her with a smile. "I feel like I haven't heard that pretty singin' voice of yers all week, Doodlebug. Why's that?"

She blushed and said, "I dunno. I guess I haven't been singin' much the last few days."

Of course she hadn't. She was being haunted by the loud and obnoxious ghost of Merle Dixon. Most days, her voice could be heard all throughout the farmhouse and in the yard outside as she sang to herself and worked. But that hadn't been the case ever since Merle showed up. She barely had time to _think_, let alone time to hum to herself or sing. She hadn't realized her dad would notice the difference, though.

"Would ya sing me somethin' now?" Hershel asked, a hopeful smile peeking out from beneath his white beard.

Beth chuckled. "Sure. What d'you wanna hear?"

"Dealer's choice," he said.

She sighed and looked down at his hand clutched between both of hers, absent-mindedly running a fingertip over his knuckles as she went through a mental list of songs he might like to hear. Once she decided on one, she kept her gaze cast downward. Though she straightened her back and took a deep breath before letting her soft singing voice escape.

"_Every man has a right to live…"_

The sound bounced around inside the bedroom, and Hershel slowly closed his eyes. She could feel him relaxing as she sang, his eyes falling shut and his hand going limp in hers.

"…_As the sun lights the day and the moon lights the night, strugglin' man keeps reachin' for the higher heights. So we plan for tomorrow as we live for today, like a flower we bloom and then later fade away… Strugglin' man has got to move. Strugglin' man, no time to lose. I'm a strugglin' man, and I've gotta move on…"_

Hershel had already fallen asleep by the end of the first chorus, but Beth went on to finish the whole song anyway.

She couldn't explain why—not even to herself—but she was thinking about Daryl while she sang her daddy to sleep.

Somehow, she'd never given the idea any realistic consideration, but… what if she'd been _meant_ to help the last living Dixon? What if their fates _were_ intertwined, and not just because she was supposed to save his soul?

What if they were meant to save _each other_?

She shook that thought from her head as quickly as it appeared, though. Because it was ridiculous.

She didn't need to be _saved_ from anything. And even if she did, she was perfectly capable of saving her damn self.

Hershel drifted off to sleep and his hand went limp, chest rising and falling steadily. But Beth remained in her seat, both hands still grasped around his. She watched him sleeping with a deep ache inside her chest.

Her voice escaped in a near-silent whisper, barely audible in her own ears. "I wish I could tell you the truth, Daddy. About how Mama was right—she was _always_ right. How Maggie's mama was right, too. We were born _special_. Your old Irish blood is _different_. Your daughters are _Gifted_. But we're cursed at the same time…"

His chest kept rising and falling, and she could hear him beginning to snore.

"I wish I could tell you what I can do. I wish I could tell you how generously God gifted me with the power to help people. I wish you knew how _hard_ I'm tryin' to save two different people's souls. And I wish I could ask you fer advice, 'cause I think… I think I'm startin' to _care_ about Daryl. A lot more than I should…" She paused and sniffled, her voice going even softer and quieter. "And Daddy, I'm _scared_. I don't know what to do. 'Cause I know it's not my job to _fix_ people, but I'm startin' to think I could help Daryl fix _himself_… or at least learn to _forgive_ himself… And I think you'd agree if I told you that his soul doesn't belong in Hell. I think you'd want me to help him… But I don't know what you'd say about Philip. I don't know if you could ever understand what kinda decision I'm gonna have to make before this is all over. Nothing is ever gonna be the same after this. At least not for me. Or Daryl…"

She sighed and gazed over at her sleeping father. "I should've just gone to college. Then it all woulda gone away and I could've been _normal_, like Maggie. I wouldn't have to lie to you. I wouldn't have to think about what's gonna happen when you cross over and I don't see you… how I won't be able to keep you here…"

Beth's voice trailed off but she remained in her seat. Watching Hershel sleep. Lost in her own torturous thoughts. That deep, unidentifiable ache blooming larger and larger within her chest.

Finally, when Hershel started snoring loudly, she decided it was time to retreat to her own bedroom and try to get some sleep. Even though it was barely eight o'clock and she wasn't even close to being tired enough to lie down.

She left her father sleeping soundly in his bed, shutting off his bedside lamp and closing his door once she slipped out into the hall. She could hear Maggie and Glenn whispering and laughing quietly from behind their closed bedroom door, and Shawn's loud snoring could be heard through the whole second story from behind his door.

Thankfully, still no sign of Merle. Beth couldn't even sense his presence. She hoped he was lurking around Daryl and Carol's trailer, eavesdropping and pissing himself off. At least that meant he wasn't her problem for the night.

Beth retreated to her bedroom, but instead of changing into pajamas and crawling into bed, she left her light on and went to the desk. She pulled out a small leather book and a pen from one of the drawers.

She barely wrote in her journal anymore these days. Ever since her mom died, she simply hadn't felt like she had much to write about. She'd grown used to keeping all the thoughts and feelings locked away inside her head; sorting through them silently while she did chores or cared for her dad.

But tonight, she couldn't do that. She had to tell _someone_. She had to sort through all these emotions in her own way. A way she hadn't felt comfortable with reverting to in quite a while.

She opened the book up and flipped through a handful of pages filled with her own curvy handwriting. She stopped on a blank page and jotted down the date at the top.

Then she began writing:

"_I've tried to ignore this for years and pretend it never happened, but facts are facts and I can't keep denying what's so obviously real and true._

_I'm Gifted. I come from a long line of Witches, and one of my ancestors narrowly avoided being persecuted and killed in Ireland. I can see dead people. I can talk to them. I can travel from the mortal plane to The Other Side with the same effort it takes to breathe._

_And I believe God gave me a purpose. I'm supposed to help other people. Because it turns out, Heaven and Hell aren't so cut-and-dry as folks like me have always believed. Sometimes, good souls go to bad places. And vise versa._

_For the last 7 years, I've been trying to figure out what I wanna do with my life. I've been waiting for that "Calling" that everybody talks about. I've been searching for that "Purpose" that's supposed to guide me through life. I always thought it would be some kind of office job or something, or that I might just be destined to work on the farm for the rest of my life._

_But I think maybe God has different plans for me. I met a Swamp Witch. He's a good man, and he does good things with his Gift. I hope I can be like him one day. I'm still not sure, but if I can make it through this and do what needs to be done… maybe I could do it again. For other people. Kinda like The Swamp Witch. Maybe I could __make__ a purpose for myself._

_Or maybe I'll just screw everything up and doom two souls to an eternity in Hell while a murderer runs loose._

_But Daddy always says, you'll never know unless you try. So that's what I'm gonna do. I'm gonna try. And I'm gonna pray that God's on my side for this one."_

She set her pen down and read back over what she'd written. A few minutes later, she'd added five more paragraphs about how she felt, what she remembered, and how conflicted she was throughout the whole thing. She thought about all the journals packed away at the back of her closet, and how they were all full of the weird little incidents from when she was younger; how she hadn't known what the hell was going on when she'd written them. How simple the explanation seemed now, in retrospect. If only she'd known. If only she'd had any idea…

Then she went on to feverishly scribble six more paragraphs after that.

This time, she stopped because her hand was aching. She dropped her pen and stretched her fingers out, skimming over her words. She'd written Merle's and Daryl's names so many times that she'd had to start referring to them as M and D. And gazing back over it, she realized just how often those two capital letters were present throughout her new entry. Particularly D.

Her brain was starting to feel fried, yet her heart was still heavy. She shut her journal and pushed it away, letting out a deep breath and glancing back at her bed. But she still wasn't tired. Her mind wouldn't stop racing. And the aching in her chest wasn't getting any better, either.

For the first time in several years, a cold beer sounded good. She rarely, if ever, felt like this, but right now? After the day she'd had and with all the crap that was swirling around in her head and her chest? Maybe a beer—or a shot of strong whiskey—was just the thing she needed to relax her body and ease her mind.

Too bad Hershel didn't allow alcohol in the house.

Beth leaned back in her desk chair and heaved out a sigh. She glanced at the clock on her bedside table to see that it was just past nine. She tried to remember if there was a liquor store in town that stayed open past nine… Probably not.

Then an idea popped into her head and, on a whim, she reached over and grabbed her phone. She opened her text messages and tapped on the conversation with Daryl.

Before she could stop herself, she typed out a message and hit Send.

_I need a drink._

Of course, as soon as she saw that her message had been Delivered, she regretted it. What was she expecting, anyway? Daryl was probably already in bed, or busy trying to keep Dog from freaking out at Merle's presence.

But then the phone vibrated in her hands.

_? Like booze?_

She rolled her eyes and texted back with a smirk, _"Well I wouldn't be texting you just to tell you I'm thirsty…"_

She didn't expect such a quick response, but a few seconds later:

_Ok smartass. Thought you didn't drink._

Beth typed out, _"I don't. But I think tonight is an exception. Can't sleep. Can't relax."_

She pressed Send and waited.

He replied, _"So what you want me to do about it?"_

She was still smirking as she texted back, _"Idk all the liquor stores are closed so I thought you might have some beer?"_

A full minute passed before his next message arrived, and she replied without a second thought.

_Don't you have church in the morning_

_Lol yeah so?_

Her muscles tensed, half-expecting him to stop answering. Not that she would take it personally…

Then another message arrived:

_All I got is half a bottle of moonshine_

Her smirk grew into a full grin and she typed back, _"Homemade ?"_

_Ha ha very funny_

_I was being serious, but…_

There was a long pause after her text. She was about to lock her phone and set it aside, prepared to admonish herself for bugging Daryl at this time of night. Almost embarrassed to realize that a large part of her wanted an excuse to see him again.

But to her pleasant surprise, he texted back:

_Well I can't sleep either._

Her thumbs hesitated over the keyboard on her screen before tapping out, _"So…?"_

This time, a full two minutes passed, and Beth really was ready to toss her phone aside and change into pajamas. She was starting to think she never should've texted him at all. That she should've just crawled into bed and allowed her restless thoughts to drag her into a half-sleeping state.

Until her screen lit up with a text from Daryl. And her heart leapt.

_Pick you up in 20?_

**to be continued… **


	63. When Merle Is Away

**When Merle Is Away**

_Meet me down the road by the old barn so your bike doesn't wake everybody up._

Beth sent her final text to Daryl and he responded a couple minutes later with a thumbs up emoji and _"on my way."_

She waited around for a bit, biding her time until she knew he'd be getting close. Then she was shoving a bottle of water, her Bluetooth speaker, and her keys into a small backpack, slipping on a thick gray cardigan, and sneaking out of the house. She fast-walked through the yard and down the long driveway, heart racing the whole time. And by the time she'd reached the road and begun walking in the direction of the old barn that her family never used anymore, she could hear the unmistakable rumble of Daryl's motorcycle. A few seconds later, she saw the beam of his headlight appearing from down the road.

Her heart sped up even faster, if that was possible. She partially expected Merle to show up any moment. But still no sign of him.

_Just stay away for tonight, _she silently prayed. The handful of moments she'd spent with Daryl without Merle lurking around and commentating had actually been pleasant, and she wanted nothing more than a couple more hours of that. Just a chance to talk to the living Dixon. One-on-one. Honestly. Privately. Candidly. Without a dead guy buzzing in her ear.

She couldn't explain why, but she wanted to get to know him better. The _real _him—the Daryl that Carol and Dwight and Rick knew. Not the gruff and angry Dixon boy that kept everyone at a distance. She could tell there were a lot more layers to him than she'd been shown. And she was determined to acquaint herself with every layer.

That's what _friends _did, after all. She just wanted to be his friend.

And… yeah. Okay. Maybe her dad's lamentations had sparked a new flame in her. Because what if there could be more than one reason for Papa Legba to refer to her as _Sunshine Girl_?

But when it came down to it, all she really wanted to do was save at least _one _Dixon boy's soul from an eternity in Hell.

_Will you let me in and let me help, Daryl Dixon? Will you let me become someone you can trust? Or are you the type to think you've already got enough friends? _She pondered silently, watching his bike slow as it approached where she stood at the side of the road, headlight nearly blinding in her eyes.

He stopped right next to her and put down both feet. He killed the engine and nodded in greeting. She smiled and took a step forward.

"Hey."

"Hey." He took a brief glance around, then asked, "Merle with ya?"

Beth shook her head. "No, I haven't seen him fer a couple hours. Figured he was with you."

Daryl grunted. "I'on't think so. Dog wasn't barkin'."

She shrugged. "I was just enjoyin' the peace while it lasts."

She'd hoped for the hint of a smirk, but there was none. He just frowned. "Yeah." Then he flipped his hair away from his eyes and looked her up and down. "So what're you try'na do? Go to a bar or somethin'?"

"Definitely not," she said, one hand nervously gripping the strap of her backpack while the other tugged at the hem of her cardigan.

"Can't drink at my place—Carol's already in bed, she's gotta work early."

"I figured," Beth said. "I kinda had a place in mind. Nothin' special. It's just a field on top of a hill, but…"

He was gazing back at her expectantly, as though he were waiting for her to elaborate, so she asked, "Did you bring the bottle with you?"

"Yup." Then he jerked his head towards the empty spot behind him and tightened his grasp on the handlebars. "'S in the bag under yer helmet. Hop on an' tell me where ta go."

She was grateful for the darkness of night because she was pretty sure her cheeks had gone red. _**My **__helmet? When did it become mine? _But she didn't hesitate to step forward and retrieve the helmet, slipping it onto her head right before she climbed onto the back of the motorcycle. She wrapped her arms around his middle and braced herself as the engine roared to life.

And she couldn't tell if it was just the vibration from the bike, or if there were _actual_ butterflies in her stomach.

* * *

As soon as Daryl cut the engine and Beth climbed off the back, he stood up and took a few steps away. Then he put his hands on his hips and took in a long, deep breath of fresh Georgia air.

She could tell by the way his back straightened and how his shoulders visibly relaxed that he was more comfortable out here, in the middle of nowhere, than he was inside any house or bar. She could tell that the endless acres of wilderness that surrounded him brought a different kind of peace and comfort than he could find anywhere else. Because she could relate; that's why she'd chosen this spot. That's why she'd decided to come back with nothing more than the crescent moon above to cast a dim glow across the dying grass and the blankets of trees.

Even if Merle suddenly showed up again, it wouldn't be ruined. Because she wanted to share it.

Beth slipped her helmet off and set it atop the empty seat of the motorcycle before rummaging through the saddlebag. She found the bottle of moonshine—half-empty, just as Daryl had said it was. Some label and a brand name that she didn't recognize. She grasped it tightly in her hand and turned around to find Daryl gazing out at the rolling field in the distance. A light breeze ruffled his hair, and for a second, she just watched him.

Then he felt her eyes on him and turned to meet her gaze, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Nice view," he muttered.

"It's my favorite," she said. "I know it's probably silly to come out to some random field an' get buzzed—like high school all over again or somethin'."

Daryl let out a grunt of amusement. "Yeah. Merle'd probably say it's _gay_."

_Another reason I'm glad he's not here, _she thought.

Then he shrugged. "But, nah. Me an' Carol got a place like this. There's been a few times we jus' needed to get away from everythin' and..." He paused, smirking. "_Go out to some random field an' get buzzed_."

Beth's lips stretched into a smile and she suddenly felt much less self-conscious. Admittedly, she'd been doubting herself the whole way here. Because what if Daryl thought it was stupid and a waste of time? What if he was like Merle in that sense, and thought it was beneath him? What if he thought she was silly and childish?

But no. She should've known better. Daryl is not Merle. They are not the same.

Yet there was still that nagging voice at the very back of her head; the one that had been there since day one, slowly growing quieter and quieter… _But is he different __**enough**__?_

"What else did ya bring?" He asked, gesturing towards the bag that was still hanging off her back.

"Oh, just my phone and a speaker," she replied, pulling the backpack off and plopping it down in the grass. "And some water."

"Just water? Nothin' else?"

"No, why—oh damn!" The realization hit her and she let out a laugh. "I didn't bring any chasers!"

Daryl scoffed. "Guess yer gonna be drinkin' that 'shine straight, Greene," he teased. "Might put some hair on yer chest."

"I sure hope not," she giggled, leaving her bag where it lay and walking forward until she was several feet away from the bike.

She sat down in the grass, the glow of the headlight behind her, and glanced back to see Daryl standing awkwardly. She patted the spot beside her and held up the bottle in her hand with raised eyebrows.

"You gonna come sit down?"

He frowned, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Then he shrugged. "Yer gonna get chigger bites from sittin' in that grass."

She laughed. "So? Wouldn't be the first time."

Without another word, he was striding back to the bike and rummaging around in the other saddlebag. She twisted around to watch him curiously, but she couldn't see what he was holding through the glare of the headlight in her eyes. Then he stopped beside her and she saw the old wool blanket in his hands. He motioned for her to move, so she stood up and stepped aside while he spread the blanket out and lay it over the grass. Once it had settled, she sat down again. Although this time, it was with a huge smile on her face.

And a second later, Daryl was grunting and lowering himself down to sit beside her, less than an arm's reach away. Nearly close enough for their shoulders to touch. Beth felt a chill run down her spine that had absolutely nothing to do with the presence of a ghost. It traveled down her limbs and through her fingertips, making her heart skip and beat a little faster.

Daryl let out a deep sigh as he leaned back on his hands and stretched his legs out atop the wool blanket, eyes set on the miles of wilderness before them and the star-speckled sky above. Beth couldn't help but notice how content he looked. More relaxed than she'd probably ever seen him—all things considered.

In this moment, she thought, he didn't seem a damn thing like Merle.

She sat with her legs criss-crossed in front of her, the bottle of moonshine clutched loosely in her grasp, and gazed out at the distance. She allowed herself to take it in, to try and quiet her mind for the time being. Although that was difficult to do with Daryl sitting so close. But all the same, it was peaceful. And quiet.

And actually, after a few deep breaths and a moment spent grounding herself, it wasn't so hard to relax. If anything, Daryl's nearby warmth was just another comfort. His presence was calming. Almost reassuring.

Once again: _very_ much unlike Merle.

An owl hooted from somewhere in the trees. Crickets chirped from every which direction, filling the cool night air with their music. A single bat flapped and fluttered around in a circle before darting off into the shadows. There was a rustling of tall grass here, and the clicking of a tiny animal's paws there. But no words spoken. Not even a grunt or a sigh or an audible exhale. No shifting of weight or picking at nails.

Beth and Daryl sat motionless, staring out at the distance. Reveling in their solitude. Basking in comfortable silence.

She wasn't sure where her thoughts were taking her, if anywhere, but after several minutes, they were abruptly interrupted by his low voice. She hadn't even realized he was looking at her until he spoke.

"Y'gonna drink that er jus' keep it warm for me?"

She smiled bashfully and glanced down at the bottle still clutched in her hands, nearly forgotten. She held it out for him to take. "It's yers, you should get the first shot."

He quirked a brow and teased, "What—ya _scared_?"

She rolled her eyes, still smiling. "Well, my daddy _does_ say bad moonshine can make ya go blind."

Daryl scoffed and reached out to snatch the bottle away. "This's store-bought. Won't even make ya lose yer sense of smell."

She laughed and watched him unscrew the cap. He raised it towards her in cheers and said, "But if you insist." Then he put it to his lips and tilted his head back, taking a swig. Beth watched closely and he didn't even wince. He just swallowed, blinked, and licked his lips before handing the bottle over.

"Jeez, Dixon," she muttered, taking it almost hesitantly. "You tryin' ta show me up or somethin'?"

He waved a hand and teased, "Yer turn. Drink up, Greene."

She stifled a giggle and lifted the bottle to her lips, pinching her nose with the other hand and tilting her head back. She tried to throw back the shot as quickly as possible, forcing it down her throat before she could really taste it. Daryl started laughing before she'd even lowered the bottle. Her eyes immediately began to water and she nearly gagged, but she fought it back.

"Bet'cher wishin' ya brought somethin' to chase it with now, aren't ya?" He joked.

She nodded, still cringing and shivering as the alcohol burned its way down her esophagus.

He took the bottle from her hands and threw back another shot while she continued to recover. She laughed, shaking her head and giving him a look of bewilderment.

"Good lord," she remarked. "It's not a _contest_."

"Not everybody's a lightweight like you," he quipped back, smirking.

"Fair enough." She chuckled and watched him swipe the back of his hand across his mouth. Then he went back to gazing out at the distance, the bottle grasped loosely at his side and his eyes narrowed like he was thinking.

The silence settled over them again and Beth let it remain for a moment. Her smile faded. She looked out towards the wide open landscape, trying to figure out what Daryl was looking at. What he was thinking about. The moonshine had sent a new warmth rushing through her veins, filling her chest and the pit of her stomach.

His deep voice broke the silence. "'S nice out here."

She hummed in agreement. "Yeah. It is."

"I can see why ya come out here. Good choice."

She smiled to herself.

"Look'it—over there." He pointed off to the right, towards the very edge of the sky that was visible above the miles of thick trees. She turned her head and looked: dark, billowing storm clouds slowly rolling in, swallowing up the stars and the deep blue of the night sky. "Storm's comin'."

Something that Beth couldn't identify swelled within her chest as she gazed over at the building clouds and watched them encroach on her land. They were still a ways off. She couldn't even hear the thunder or see the lightning, and she could barely smell the hint of wet earth on the breeze.

But the storm was indeed coming. And it was too big to stop.

She swallowed hard and dragged her eyes away, back to Daryl. He was still gazing at the distant clouds, but when she spoke, he turned his head and met her eyes.

"Daryl, I owe you an apology," she said, as plainly as she could manage. Even though her heart was thumping so hard that it was surely echoing in her voice.

"Fer what?" He looked confused.

"For what I said to you earlier," she explained. "And how I talked to you. I was really crass, and I shouldn't have been. You were right, I didn't need to compare our brothers, because that's not what you were trying to do. I'm just so frustrated and I'm startin' to feel overwhelmed, and I guess I got defensive when I didn't need to—but I know that's not an excuse. There _is_ no excuse. I didn't mean to be a hypocrite, but I was. And I'm sorry. That's not how friends are supposed to act."

He frowned, appearing even more confused.

She went on, "I know you were just tryin' to help. And I lashed out. I mean, I wanted you to understand, but I could've explained it a lot nicer—"

"Stop," Daryl cut her off.

Beth snapped her lips shut and wavered, nervous for what he'd say next. But then his frown slowly curled up into an amused smirk and he was shaking his head, waving her off like she was spouting nonsense.

"Ya don't gotta apologize every time you lose yer temper," he said. "Ta be honest, I jus' thought you was givin' me a taste of my own medicine."

"What d'you mean?" She asked.

He shrugged. "I was a dick ta you when all you were tryin' to do was help me. Lost my temper more'an once… figured you was showin' me what it's like. Thought maybe you was seein' how well I'd handle it if you acted like a bitch fer a minute."

She snorted. "What—like I was _testing_ you or something? Or gettin' revenge?" She gave him a bewildered look and said, "I don't blame you fer how you've reacted to my situation. And I would never try ta punish you fer my own hurt feelings. I don't _wanna_ be a bitch."

"But sometimes ya gotta be."

"Well, yeah. I guess. If it means gettin' things done, or getting my point across. I mean, Maggie taught me that much." She paused before adding, "But you don't deserve that. I'm frustrated with Merle and my brother, and maybe myself. But I'm not frustrated with _you_. I shouldn't take it out on you. None of my stress is _your _fault."

He grunted and glanced away. "Kinda is, though."

"No, it's not," she insisted. "Even if your soul wasn't on the line… what makes you think I wouldn't wanna stop a murderer? Or that I wouldn't wanna help a dead guy get a little bit of justice?"

"I'ono," he grumbled. "'S just a lot to take on. 'Specially when ya got the farm to worry about. An' yer dad just keeps gettin' older…"

A heavy silence fell between them, during which Daryl pursed his lips and looked at her like he was expecting some kind of argument. But Beth simply frowned.

"He's dying." It burst from her lips before she could stop it. She hadn't wanted to say it, yet it escaped like…

Like she'd been thinking it and fighting it and denying it. And now, for some reason, she was starting to accept it. Now. Of all times.

She expected a look of shock to appear on Daryl's face. But it didn't. He frowned and remained silent. He didn't glance away. Even when she kind of wished he would.

His unwavering gaze made her feel like she needed to fill the silence. Her breath hitched in her chest and she swallowed hard, unable to tear her eyes away. Another word poured out, uninhibited and unintentional, "Fuck." She blinked and fought back an onslaught of tears. Then she suddenly remembered the bottle grasped in her hand, and she lifted it to her lips and threw back a shot of moonshine in hopes that it would make her just a little numb. Because she was feeling way more than she'd intended to right now.

Daryl watched, waiting patiently for her to go on. She expected to find judgment in his eyes when she met them again, alcohol burning her throat. But there was none. He was just… looking at her. Waiting. Listening.

She sighed. "I shouldn't've said that. He's not _dying_. He's—"

"Got a lot less time left'an you thought he'd have," Daryl finished for her. "Than you'd _like_ him ta have."

Her lips snapped shut and she nodded, fingers wrapping tighter around the neck of the moonshine bottle. "Yeah. I think he's gettin' closer everyday. I _know_ he's gettin' closer everyday. Sometimes, he's so weak, he can barely get out of bed…" She choked back a sob and blinked away tears. "I don't… I-I wanna believe he's got another twenty years left in him. But that's just _stupid_. I'm too old to be gettin' my hopes up like that. I know better. I'm supposed to be mature enough to prepare myself for the inevitable."

"That what yer brother taught ya?" Daryl guessed.

Beth furrowed her brow. "What d'you mean?"

"That yer s'posed ta be mature enough to handle everything?" He elaborated. "Even though you ain't left the farm in yer whole life, or made any friends—you ever even had a real job 'sides babysittin'?"

She finally glanced away, frowning in contemplation. And shame. "What's that gotta do with anything?"

He scoffed, his voice low and gravelly over the chirping of crickets. "C'mon. How was you s'posed ta grow up an' get all _mature_ if nobody ever gave ya the chance to go out an' live yer own life? Make yer own mistakes. Get yer hopes up an' have 'em smashed right in front'a ya. Learn a lesson or two the hard way. Ain't gonna learn a damn thing if you don't experience that shit on yer own. Keep livin' in a bubble an' eventually… it's gonna get popped."

"Nobody ever kept me in a _bubble_," she argued. "It's like I told you… we were just tryin' to make ends meet. And the next thing I knew, years had gone by. I couldn't just _abandon_ my family."

There was a semblance of defeat in his tone when he said, "I know."

He reached over and grabbed the bottle from her hand, and she watched as he took a long swig. She kept her eyes on him, but he was gazing out into the distance. Looking towards the billowing storm clouds once again.

"I know all about loyalty to blood," he said plainly, eyes still set on the distance. "Yer lucky. Your brother's a good guy. He wants the best for ya. He wants the bubble you live in to be _safe_. I always wanted to think that's what Merle wanted fer me… but I knew better."

Beth didn't say anything. She watched him grip the bottle a little harder, his jaw tensing and his voice remaining flat.

"Didn't have no choice in the matter, though. It was either him or… nobody. 'Cause I sure as hell wasn't gonna keep suffering under my dad's roof. An' I thought about leavin' at least a thousand times 'fore Merle got home. But I didn't have a reason till he dragged me away."

"Wasn't getting away from your dad reason enough?" She whispered, unable to stop herself from asking.

"Yeah," he replied simply. "But I couldn't make it on my own."

"Why not?"

"Just couldn't. I'ono… Carol calls it _codependency_. But I don't think there's a name fer whatever it was that kept me there. Whatever it was that told me I'd never survive alone, an' convinced me that the whole world owed me somethin' I'd never be able to earn."

_There is a name, _Beth thought. _Two names. Will Dixon and Merle Dixon._

She remembered what Hershel had told her just a couple of hours ago. How he'd suffered under an abusive father and been convinced that he was incapable of anything more than anger, hate, and pain. How he'd almost persuaded himself into accepting a lonely, mediocre life because he thought that's what he deserved.

"Your dad put all that stuff into your head," she said. Daryl turned his head and met her gaze, a bit taken aback. But she continued, "And so did Merle. They convinced you that you were worthless, that you'd never be _anything_ without them. They _made_ you need them… That's what Carol means when she says it's codependency."

He scowled and looked away again, shaking his head. "Don't tell me like I'm some illiterate fuck. I'm not _stupid_."

Beth reeled and quickly backtracked. "I don't _think_ you're stupid, Daryl. I was just—"

"I _know_. Okay?" He snapped, turning his gaze on her and narrowing his eyes. His voice turned into a low growl. "I already know _all_ that shit. You think I ain't figured it out? I'm nearly twice yer fuckin' age, girl. I've had more'an enough time to _think_ about it."

She withered where she sat and looked away, embarrassed. She shouldn't have said anything.

But then he sighed and she felt the tension lighten between them, right before she felt something nudging her arm. She looked and found him bumping the moonshine bottle against her elbow in an apologetic offering, so she reached over and took it. She swallowed a shot, hoping it would ease the churning in her stomach.

"Sorry, I just—"

"No, I understand," she cut him off, swiping the back of her hand across her mouth and meeting his eyes. "I shouldn't have said anything. It's not my place."

He sighed again. "'S not that." He averted his gaze back towards the sky. "Just… I know. I know how fuckin' stupid I was. How _codependent_ I've always been. I done figured it out over a decade ago. But what choice did I have? Merle was all I ever had. He was a fuckin' asshole an' a waste of oxygen, but he was my _brother_. I know he poisoned my mind. But I can't be too mad at 'im 'cause I know our dad poisoned his mind _first_. He couldn't help it; he didn't _know_ better. He was an ignorant asshole. But that's the thing… he was _ignorant_. All he ever did was the only thing he _knew_ to do. He was stupid enough to think he was doin' me a favor."

Beth swallowed hard and watched him with a frown. He shook his head but didn't turn to meet her eyes.

She wasn't even sure that his words were intended for her ears when he spoke. But they had to be, because she was the only one here.

"The worst part, though—shit, the worst part is that I ain't ever gonna be _free_ of him. Pretty soon, he's gonna cross over, an' you won't have to hear his voice no more. But I hear 'im every fuckin' day. In the back of my head. I see him hangin' from that rope every damn night when I sleep. I ain't _ever_ been able to escape him. Even when I stopped talkin' to 'im, even when I finally decided to grow a fuckin' spine and put my goddamn foot down…" Daryl shook his head and scoffed angrily. "Nah. That asshole couldn't leave me alone. Always in my head, tryin'a tell me that I don't deserve nothin' good, that I need ta stop playin' pretend and just accept…"

There was a beat of silence.

Beth breathed out through barely parted lips, "Accept what?"

Daryl cleared his throat. "Nothing. Absolutely fuckin' _nothing_ at all. 'Cause it's never good enough. Ain't none of it _ever_ gonna be good enough. God didn't make a place in the world for Dixons. We don't belong here. Got no purpose. We was always given the short end of the stick. Made to suffer. And it's _somebody's_ fault… but I can't seem ta figure out _whose_."

Beth waited to speak until she could see him chewing on his lower lip.

"That's the stuff you tell yourself?" She asked softly. "That your dad and brother put into your head?"

He grunted indifferently, refusing to look over at her.

"And you know it's not true. And you can keep telling yourself it's not, and hearin' it from other people… But that doesn't make the voice go quiet. It doesn't make your brain work the way it's supposed to work. You don't just wake up one day and decide to be better. Even if you do… it doesn't work like that. 'Cause there's still the days when you don't even wanna wake up, let alone try an' be _anything_. 'Better' is an unrealistic expectation. Somedays, it's damn near a miracle to even be _present_. Tryin' to be _better_ would just be… more than you're capable of."

Daryl had slowly turned his head and met her eyes while she spoke, an indiscernible expression on his face. She immediately snapped her lips shut and looked down at the bottle in her hand.

"Who put it into _your_ head?" He asked. She realized the look on his face had been confusion—like he was baffled that she could relate. That she understood.

Beth shook her head. "That's the thing," she said, pausing to take a shot from the bottle and force it down her throat. It seemed to go down a lot smoother this time, and her brain was beginning to feel lighter. So was her heart. "Nobody put it in my head. That's not how I was raised to think. I've always been surrounded by people who loved me and cared about me and believed in me. It just kinda… happened."

"What—after yer mom died?" He guessed, reaching out and taking the bottle from her.

She responded while he took a shot, "I dunno. I guess. But it feels like that voice has been with me forever. It was just easier to ignore it before she died."

He wiped his mouth and met her eyes again. "'S that why you tried ta kill yerself?" He asked bluntly.

Her cheeks grew warm and she quickly averted her gaze. "Probably. I mean—I didn't _really_ wanna die. I thought I did. But as soon as I dragged that razor across my wrist and watched the blood start pourin' out… I panicked. It was a mistake. I wanted to _live_. For what, I dunno. But I wasn't ready to die." She let out a choked sigh and met his eyes warily, expecting some sort of judgment. Yet once again, there was none. She licked her lips and added, "My daddy always said suicide is the coward's way out. And I've tried to be brave. I've never been the quittin' type, but sometimes, quitting just seems… a lot less painful."

Daryl grunted in understanding. "Ain't a coward fer wantin' peace."

A memory flashed through Beth's mind: Maggie's voice in her ears. The words scrawled in black ink on the bandage over her wrist. _"How can you give up like this? On yourself? On us? On me? You really think taking the easy way out will give you peace? What about our peace?"_

Beth shoved those memories away and shrugged, reaching over for the moonshine bottle. He let her take it. She threw back a small shot and winced as it burned down her throat.

"I mean it," he went on. "I mighta never really got to that point, but that don't mean I can't understand it. Difference 'tween you an' me… I was too much of a coward to even _try_. I was just waitin' fer the day that one of Merle's twackstar buddies would put a gun to my head an' finally pull the trigger. I figured my brother would get me killed eventually, an' I was ready for it."

She gave him a bewildered look. "His friends actually did that kinda stuff to you? Like… regularly?"

He simply nodded and muttered, "Couldn't tell ya how many times I had a gun pointed at me by some dude that was too fuckin' high ta even turn the safety off. And it was always over stupid shit. Merle was always too fucked up to care."

She shouldn't have been surprised. It wasn't like she didn't know what kind of person Merle had been while he was alive. Yet she was still a little shocked. It was similar to how she'd felt when she found out Will used to shoot at things inside his own house—she hadn't had high expectations, but at the same time, they hadn't been quite _that _low.

She swallowed hard, the alcohol causing her mouth to go dry. But she couldn't look away from him. "Did you ever _really_ believe your brother killed himself? Did you ever…" She paused and finally glanced away, her voice cracking. "It'll sound _really_ fucked up, but… did you ever wish he would'a taken you with him?"

Without missing a beat, Daryl responded, "Yes. And no. And yes."

She looked at him quizzically.

He sighed, shoulders slumping as he rested his elbows atop his knees. "I was only just startin' to accept that he might've actually killed himself when you showed up. 'Cause I already know… if he was gonna take the easy way out, he would'a _forced_ me ta come with him. I wouldn'ta had no choice in the matter." He cleared his throat and straightened his back, looking away to gaze out at the distance. "Nah. I never wished I'd gone with him. 'Cept… maybe every once in a while."

An owl hooted from somewhere in the trees. The crickets chirped a little louder.

"Yeah," Beth whispered. "Me, too."

Before the silence could draw out, he said, "That's why Carol's my best friend. She helps make Merle's voice a little easier to ignore. She _gets_ it… she's been there. Sophia's dad was a real piece of shit. Put all kinds of poisonous shit in her head. Drove her to the brink of suicide 'bout a hundred times. She ain't got no family left, ain't had no friends since Sophia was born. Her ex is long gone, but I know she still hears his voice every damn day. Tellin' 'er she'll never be enough. But she keeps doin' everything she can to prove him wrong. Even though he ain't around to give a fuck."

"'Cause she's got her daughter to live for," Beth blurted out. "It's _easy_ for her. She has a real purpose."

When Daryl shot her a puzzled look, appearing almost taken aback, she realized that the moonshine had loosened her lips. Her head was starting to swim, thoughts flowing in and out much quicker and freer than usual. Which meant they were making their way down to her mouth without much inhibition.

She quickly shook her head and apologized, "I didn't mean that—I don't mean it's _easy_ for her. I could never _imagine_ surviving an abusive marriage and movin' on, and I know she's about a million times stronger than anybody I've ever met. I just meant—"

"Nah," he cut her off. "I know what'cha meant. And you're right… It _is_ easier for her. If it wasn't fer Sophia, I ain't so sure she would've even made it this far."

Beth looked at him apologetically, but it wasn't necessary. He hadn't taken offense. Even though she felt like she should be sticking her foot in her mouth.

"Guess it ain't so simple to be better fer yerself. When there's nobody else countin' on ya," he surmised. "Almost ain't worth the effort. Most of us gotta have a _reason_ to try." Then he threw back another shot of moonshine.

"Yeah," she agreed softly, watching him swallow the liquor and gaze up thoughtfully at the sky. "What's your reason?"

He didn't look at her. He sat silently for a long moment, staring up towards the stars. Then he exhaled a deep breath and replied, "Still tryin' to figure it out."

She pursed her lips and looked away, staring blankly at the overgrown field in the distance. Despite the content of their conversation, her back suddenly felt a few pounds lighter.

She'd never talked to someone like this. So bluntly expressing her general indifference towards living. So openly discussing the reasons for her suicide attempt and depression without fear of judgment.

Sure, she'd talked to Maggie plenty of times. And there'd been a couple years when their dad had been able to afford regular therapy sessions. But it had never been like _this_. No matter what was said, Beth had never really felt all that comfortable trying to explain it to people who would simply never _get it_. None of them understood—_truly_ understood. In the way that only someone who had nothing to live for could understand.

Not in the way that someone who was very slowly _finding_ their reason to live could understand.

She'd never been able to speak this honestly with anyone before. Not even the dead people.

(And she was 99% sure it wasn't _just_ because of the moonshine.)

Then that nagging voice chimed in from the back of her head: _He's different… but is he different __**enough**__?_

And she decided: _Yes._

_Daryl Dixon is __**more**__ than different enough._

**to be continued… **


	64. Dixon vs Everybody

**Dixon vs Everybody**

"What's yours?"

Daryl was looking at her again. Beth turned her head to meet his gaze, furrowing her brow thoughtfully for a moment while he waited for her response.

Then she shrugged. "Don't got one."

He frowned. "Ya mean yer still figurin' it out, too?"

She shook her head, lips loose from the moonshine that was coursing through her veins. She felt no reason to try and speak with her usual sugar-coated optimism. "No. I just… don't have one. Maybe I never will. I dunno."

His frown deepened and his brow creased in disappointment. "How so?"

Beth heaved out a sigh of exasperation. Daryl held out the bottle for her to take, and she did. But she didn't lift it to her lips. She wrapped her hand around the neck like it was an anchor to earth and gazed down at it, mulling over all the unfiltered thoughts currently rattling around inside her skull.

Then the confession poured from her lips, "I don't know. I really don't. I could say my dad an' my brother are my reasons, or Maggie, or the farm. But that'd just be bullshit. 'Cause my dad won't be around much longer anyway, and I've always been the baby of the family, so it's not like Maggie an' Shawn would miss havin' to look out for me."

She saw Daryl opening his mouth to interject, but she cut him off before he could.

"And I don't mean they'd be happier if I wasn't around—I'm not some _emo_ teenager anymore. Yeah, they're part of the reason I didn't wanna die. And they still are. But that doesn't mean they give me enough reason to… _live_."

She glanced up in time to see him tilting his head back and staring down his nose at her, as though he were studying her in a new light. Then he gave a brisk nod to show that he understood.

So she went on, "Before the diagnosis, I was an honor student. I played softball and I sang in the choir and I had all my credits lined up so I could graduate a semester early. I was already fillin' out applications to my dream colleges. I could've gotten a full ride on all the scholarships I qualified for. I had a group of friends that I talked to about everything, and a boyfriend that I thought I was gonna marry an' have kids with someday." She paused, a reminiscent smile ghosting across her lips for just a second. Then she huffed out a humorless laugh and averted her gaze towards the distance, away from Daryl's dark eyes. Her voice lowered. "And then I had to fill my mom's place in the family and take over all her duties. And all the other stuff just kinda… fell apart. First, I had to quit softball. Then there wasn't any time for choir anymore. And the next thing I knew, my straight A's were turning into C's and D's and I couldn't sleep or eat or keep up with all my chores. I didn't have the time or energy to text my friends back. I broke up with my boyfriend 'cause I didn't wanna hold him back… And by the time Mama died, _everything_ had gone out the window. I was lucky just to graduate on time. I fell so far behind that I almost had to repeat senior year. I didn't even bother sending in the college applications, 'cause I didn't qualify for any scholarships anymore and Daddy had to spend all his savings on… everythin' else."

Beth paused and cleared her throat. Daryl was sitting silently, though she could still feel his gaze on her. She could see him watching her from the corner of her eye. And from what she could see, he didn't appear to be looking at her with pity. Which was surprising. In a relieving way.

She let out a sigh and finished, "It's kinda funny, too… 'Cause now I look back, and I can't even _remember_ what my big plan was. What I wanted to do with my life, or why I thought I could do anythin' at all. Some days, it takes everything I've got just to get out of bed. I dunno how I expected to ever find my _calling_ or whatever—a real purpose outside of filling my mom's shoes. I can't even imagine my life away from the farm. Away from my dad and Shawn. But I know I could never do what Maggie does. I could never just… go it _alone_ like that."

As soon as she finished, Beth put the bottle to her lips and tilted it back. The moonshine burned her throat, but it was becoming a lot more bearable. Or maybe she was becoming more numb.

When she lowered it and swiped the back of her hand across her mouth, Daryl grunted. He was still studying her with a somewhat curious expression on his face.

"Guess we're both codependent," he said.

She wasn't sure why, but a laugh bubbled up and burst out into the quiet night air. She tried to stifle it, but it only made her laugh harder. Daryl smirked and reached over to grab the bottle out of her hands.

"Sorry," she said, still smiling as she composed herself. "That's not actually funny."

He shrugged and took a swig of moonshine. "Kinda is."

She _hmph_ed and rolled her eyes. "In a really depressing way, maybe."

Daryl shrugged yet again, grasping the bottle loosely beside his leg. "We're both still here, aren't we? Still chuggin' along. Even though we don't know what direction we're s'posed to be chuggin' for."

Beth chuckled. "Yeah…" The lightness in her chest receded momentarily, and she admitted, "I've felt… aimless. Ever since she died. Like I'm goin' just to _go_, but there's no actual destination to justify the journey."

She glanced up to see his eyes darken right before he looked away. His hand clutched the bottle a little tighter. "How's that old saying go? _It's about the journey an' not the destination_, or some shit?"

"_Mmhmm_," she hummed.

"Well it's bullshit."

"And it sounds like whoever said it had a _purpose_ for their journey," she agreed.

He snorted. "Right."

"I dunno. Sometimes, I wonder if I'm just not tryin' hard enough. Or lookin' in the right places."

"Or maybe it don't matter."

She looked at him quizzically, but he didn't return her gaze. He just shrugged.

"All'm sayin' is, I've _always_ felt aimless. No destination, whatever. Even when Merle was layin' out my day-to-day life for me. Felt like we was… just driftin' with the wind. Nothin' was ever permanent. Only thing that stayed steady was his addictions. Think he pro'lly liked it that way. Guess that's where we're different…"

_That's not the only aspect that's different, _she thought.

"It was alright fer a while. I wasn't gonna complain. Not like I had any other choice." He sighed, and his shoulders sagged. "But it ain't enough fer me no more. I got a steady job, a place to call home, a couple people who give a fuck whether I live or die. I can go anywhere I want now… But I got no fuckin' clue where to start. 'Cause it still feels like I'm gon' end up in the same damn place no matter what. Whether my brother's leadin' me there or not."

Beth blinked. "So what's the point?"

His expression hardened, but not in defiance. It was more like resilience. Persistence. And when he responded, there was a determination in his voice that she'd never heard before.

"Point is, it's _my_ choice now. Whatever direction I go is gonna be 'cause of me an' nobody else. Might be aimless, but at least I'll be free. An' maybe I'll be a little happy, too. Knowin' I'm finally livin' fer me an' not some dead, ungrateful prick. Even if it's true what my pa drilled into my head, and there ain't no place on earth made fer me—who's stoppin' me from makin' my _own_ damn place?"

"But what if there really _is_ no place for you?" She didn't know where these questions were coming from. They were just pouring out, uninhibited and unfiltered. "What if you're never able to make anything _meaningful_ outta yer life?"

Daryl's brow creased and he stared back at her for a moment. Studied her. Then he said, "Meaningful to who? To _me_? Or everybody else?"

She didn't have an answer for that. She shrugged meekly.

He grunted. "What do I gotta prove? I got some legacy to uphold that I don't know about?"

"I guess not," she mumbled, dragging her eyes away from his.

She could feel him staring at her. Studying her some more. Looking right through her. She knew he was practically reading her mind, because surely it was more than evident in her expression and tone, but she didn't want to acknowledge it.

Then he said, very definitively, "Nah. I ain't got _shit_ to prove… Neither do you. You heard what Morgan said—'bout that service bein' the price you pay fer your place on earth. He said it was bullshit. And he's right."

Beth flicked her eyes up to meet his and asked, "But how d'you _know_?"

Daryl shrugged. "'Cause I do. Spent too many years believin' the world owed me somethin'. Now I realize I woulda saved a lotta time if I coulda just accepted that the world don't owe me a goddamn thing."

She frowned, looking back at him expectantly.

He went on, "It doesn't. Nobody owes me shit. Just like I don't owe the world anything. I didn't ask to be here. I ain't got no direction meant fer me. Just a will to survive. An' that's alright." He paused, scoffing. "That's where they get ya—people like you an' yer brother an' sister. Everybody puts it into yer heads that you gotta do somethin' _big_ with yer life; gotta break some barriers an' make some history, and sacrifice everything you fuckin' _got_ just for a _taste_ of that pie in the sky. Like there's some uncarved path yer s'posed to take, and if ya don't, you just didn't _work_ hard enough, or _want_ it enough. Didn't do enough of your part to carve out that path, even though it was prob'ly never meant fer folks like you anyhow."

Beth blinked. But she nodded. Because she agreed. Shit… she _really_ agreed. He was voicing all the ideas she'd always suppressed. All the thoughts that had never felt justified; he was justifying them for her.

Daryl waved a hand dismissively, as though he were waving off all of society. He continued, his tone grown scathing, "The fuck's so wrong with just livin' a simple life an' bein' happy with what'cha got? Why's everybody gotta fight an' sacrifice an' suffer just to find some fuckin' _peace _in this world? Ain't it enough to have a safe place to call home and some food in yer belly? A few good people you can call friends and some hobbies that make ya happy?"

She smirked and mumbled, "No, it's not enough. Not for everybody. Not for people who've never had to worry about where their next meal was gonna come from."

He gave a clipped nod and narrowed his eyes. "Yeah. People like you—always had a warm bed to sleep in, a parent you could count on, a whole farm full'a food."

She looked away, suddenly ashamed.

But he quickly added, "That's the problem, ain't it? You think 'cause yer sister went off to the city an' did somethin' big—somethin' _professional_ and _grown-up_—that you gotta follow her lead? You had a whole plan fer yer life. Worked at it since the day you could start imagining a future… wanted ta be some perfect wife with a perfect career and a perfect home and a couple'a perfect kids. Somethin' yer folks could be real _proud_ of."

Despite the moonshine, Beth could still feel the shame growing larger. She couldn't meet his eyes. She just shrugged and mumbled, "Yeah. Basically."

"Yeah, well," he said. "Life don't work out like that. Maybe you _will_ end up gettin' some fancy career. Or maybe you'll stay on the farm fer the rest of yer days. Who cares? Only thing that matters is that yer _happy_. That _you're_ satisfied with your life. I don't see why you gotta do _big things_. We only got so much time to live, might as well enjoy it as much as we can. It's only a waste if you ain't havin' fun."

She pursed her lips and hesitated, gazing off thoughtfully. "Are _you _having fun?" She whispered.

He didn't respond for a second. Then he muttered, "Yeah. All things considered. Never took much to make me happy, though."

She met his eyes and said, "I just wanna help people. That's all I've _ever_ wanted to do. But I don't think I'll ever be a nurse like my mom, or a veterinarian like my dad. I can't even _imagine_ havin' a real career. Leaving the farm. Moving away and startin' a whole new life. I don't _want _to imagine it. I've always been the happiest here… At home."

He raised his eyebrows and she thought she could see the slightest hint of a smirk playing on his lips as he said, "So… do it."

"Do what?"

"Help people. Here. If you don't wanna leave, what reason is there to force yourself?"

"I can't do anything if I stay here for the rest of my life, though. Who am I gonna help if I never leave Senoia?"

He shrugged. "Yer helpin' me. And Merle… And yer just gettin' started."

She looked away, mulling over his words. Just getting started? How was he able to speak so confidently?

"Shit," he muttered, chuckling. "If Merle ever taught me anything worth remembering, it was that you gotta lower yer expectations every once in a while. Life ain't gonna go as planned. No matter _who_ you are. Gotta learn to settle with what you can get."

There was a beat. She was thinking of her daddy. Of Dale. Of Rick. How _their_ lives had turned out. And how it most certainly hadn't been anything like they'd planned. Yet they seemed happy all the same.

Then she met Daryl's gaze once more and asked, "What if I don't wanna settle?"

His smirk disappeared and the crease in his brow became more prominent. He stared back at her for a moment. A long moment.

"Then don't," he said plainly. "It's all up to you."

She glanced away. "How do I tell my dad that I can talk to dead people? How do I tell my brother that my purpose is helping lost souls cross over? If that _is_ my purpose."

Daryl was silent for at least a full minute. Beth didn't really expect an answer. If anything, she was simply voicing her own insecurities. Letting them pour out vocally rather than writing it all down in her journal. But he answered anyway.

"Why's it gotta be yer purpose? Why're you tryin' so hard to let this shit define who you are?"

She looked to him with surprise, her expression conveying her curious confusion.

He turned his head back to gaze out towards the horizon. "You wanna help people so bad—well, here's yer chance. You wanna stay on the farm, ain't nobody pushin' ya out. You wanna be like yer sister? Or you wanna be like Morgan? Or you wanna be somethin' in between those two extremes?"

He paused and let the question sink into her skin. She stared down at her hands, at her fingers wrapped around the neck of the moonshine bottle.

"It don't matter, girl," he concluded. "Do whatever ya want. Be whoever ya want. Nobody's stoppin' ya. Nobody's rushin' ya. And nobody else has ta live with yer choice… 'cept you. 'S all about what makes ya happy. Even if it takes a lot less to make ya happy than you thought it would."

"But what if it's not enough?" She asked.

He scoffed. "Hell… you've already seen The Other Side. _You_ know what comes after all this mess. And do ya honestly think any of this shit actually _matters_? Has anything you've seen given you the feeling that you need to do _more_? Like you gotta _earn_ yer place here—_and_ there? Or was it more like, 'shit happens and then you die, hope you tried yer best'?"

She hesitated briefly before admitting, "I don't know. I really don't. This whole thing… it's like…" She reached up and fiddled with the cross hanging around her neck. "It's like God's testing me on a subject I didn't even know I was s'posed to be studying for."

Daryl _hmph_ed and said, "Welcome to the club."

She shot him a smirk and he added, "'Cept I didn't even _believe_ in God till this shit happened. 'S all new territory fer me."

Beth offered a look of sympathetic agreement. "Yeah well, it's got me questioning everything I was raised to believe, so I know what you mean."

He grunted and reached over to snatch the bottle away before lifting it to his lips for another small shot, all while gazing out towards the starry horizon. Beth took the bottle back but didn't take a drink, choosing to let it sit between her legs instead. The quiet settled between them. She could practically hear the gears turning inside his head. Or maybe she could sense all the emotions he was feeling.

Either way, his silence was palpable; heavy with unspoken words. Yet the tension that would normally be present was nowhere to be found. Thanks to the alcohol in their bloodstreams, she reckoned.

She couldn't speak for Daryl, but the moonshine seemed to be taking its effect on her own mind. Because a small part of her was suddenly itching to forget whatever they'd been talking about and stand up and grab the speaker and put on some music she could dance to. Under the moon and the stars. Even if Daryl thought she was stupid. She had a random urge to push all this painful shit away for a little while and just… enjoy being alive. Carefree.

But then he spoke, low and hoarse, with his eyes still set on the distant storm clouds.

"Said you saw my mom somewhere in that old man's memories today… what all'd you see, exactly?"

Beth looked over at him with surprise, but he wouldn't meet her eyes. She could see him tense up, his shoulders stiffening and his jaw setting hard.

The alcohol was really starting to make her head swim, but she'd been replaying those memories all day long. They were burned into her brain. She couldn't forget the details if she tried.

Yet the words wouldn't form. She was searching for the right way to describe it and coming up empty. Her silence made Daryl turn his head, giving her an expectant look. Though there wasn't much optimism in his expression.

He frowned. "Ain't never seen you cry like that after usin' yer… _Gift_. I know it had to be bad. But… how bad _was_ it?"

Beth swallowed hard and forced her mind to remain grounded. Because she very badly wanted to let it drift up towards the clouds right now, and the liquor was making her head lighter than air.

"It wasn't _just_ seeing your mom that was so upsetting," she explained. "It was… everything. I dunno how to explain it in a way you could understand, but all I did was blink my eyes, and I went somewhere else. For _years_. And almost everything I saw was painful. It—it was like experiencing somebody else's suffering first-hand. Bein' forced to watch it happen through their eyes and _knowing_ you can't do _anything_ about it."

"I couldn't _try_ to understand it," he said plainly. "Wasn't askin' why you broke down. I know why. Might not understand, but I still get it… All I wanna know is how she _looked_. If she seemed happy."

Beth's breath caught in her throat and she wanted to tear her eyes away from Daryl's, but she couldn't. Because they were so bare. So open. So vulnerable.

She could see it in his face. Hear it in his tone. He was _begging_ her for a detail—_any_ detail. Just a simple reassurance.

He was praying she hadn't seen his mama at her worst.

If it weren't for her alcohol blood level, Beth might've teared up. But she managed to fight it back and respond, "She looked _beautiful_, Daryl. She was pregnant with you. And when she talked about you, she smiled. And her eyes sparkled… Just like yours."

He turned his head away before she could see his reaction. And his shaggy hair hid his face from view. But she could see his shoulders tightening, his back flexing with a deep breath in and out. His hands balling into fists atop his thighs.

Then he very abruptly reached over and snatched the bottle from her hands, tilting it back and draining the last two shots' worth of moonshine. All she could do was watch, frozen, unsure of whether she should say anything. He tossed the empty bottle out into the darkness. It landed in the grass several feet away with a soft _th-thunk-thunkk-thunkkkk_.

He cleared his throat and shook his head, still avoiding her gaze. "Don't let it go to yer head, but I fuckin' _envy_ you, Beth Greene."

Beth was too shocked to do anything but laugh. She couldn't fathom why he would say such a thing. She couldn't even form a response. She just kept staring at him. Perplexed.

He shook his head again. "I mean it. 'Tween the family an' the house an' all the fuckin' _opportunities_ you got that I ain't ever had. An' on top'a all that… _you_ get to be the one to see my brother after he's dead. To help him cross over to his final resting place. You get to be the one who…" He paused, and she thought he might've been suppressing a sob, but that was silly. Because she was almost positive that Daryl Dixon didn't cry. He quickly retained his composure and finished, "You get to see my mom. The way I always wished I coulda seen 'er… and you get to _remember_ it."

_Shit_. Beth's heart panged with a deep guilt. Deeper than anything she'd felt thus far. If it weren't for the shots of moonshine, she was almost certain that there would be tears streaming down her face right now.

Yet she couldn't feel anything except numb disappointment. It was a stark reminder as to why she hadn't revealed too many details earlier in the day. Because she already knew that Merle and Daryl's mom was a sensitive subject. And deep down, she already felt guilty for witnessing that memory of Leanne and having no way of sharing it with Daryl. She could only imagine what it must be like to have no memories of your own mother past the age of eight. Leanne Dixon's face was probably barely more than a blur in Daryl's mind by now. And Beth wished she could change that.

But at the same time, she would never wish her "Gift" on anyone. Not even the Dixons.

"Daryl, I'm so sorry," she started.

"Don't be," he interjected. He finally turned his head and looked at her, a stony coldness set in his features. "Ain't nothin' you could change. You didn't choose none'a this… neither did I. 'S just the way it worked out."

"But you should never be _jealous_ of me—"

He scoffed. "I'm not. Not really. 'S just how I always been. Ever since I can remember, I been jealous of other people. Folks like you an' yer brother an' sister. Can't help but feel a little _envy_ once ya realize everybody else grew up with electricity and running water."

Beth snapped her lips shut, but she had a thousand more apologies waiting on the tip of her tongue. She was trying to gauge his reaction first, though. And oddly, he seemed indifferent. She couldn't detect any resentment or bitter anger. Just a hint of sadness. Like he'd already accepted it years ago. Like he was just… _over it. _

He let out a sigh that affirmed her assumptions and turned away. A few seconds later, he was reaching into the back pocket of his jeans. She watched curiously.

He pulled out his wallet and opened it up to retrieve a folded piece of plastic. But, no—it wasn't a folded piece of plastic. It was a photo. The same one she'd helped him find. The same one he'd pulled out and placed atop the crystal ball inside Morgan's cabin.

The one he hadn't allowed her to see. Until now.

He held it out, pinched between his thumb and forefinger, and waited for her to take it. So she did. She reached out with a ginger grasp and took the photo, handling it like it was made of glass. Then she held it up and studied it in the bright beam of the motorcycle's headlight.

It was a polaroid. Clearly aged and weathered, with faded colors and a hazy, yellowish film over the picture. But Beth immediately recognized the woman sitting in an old armchair. Leanne. Her sandy blonde hair was longer, flowing down over her shoulders, and there was a toddler perched on her knee. A little blonde boy with the same dark blue eyes as her, grinning happily. One of her arms was wrapped around the toddler's middle, holding him up, while her other hand held a lit cigarette. And she was smiling. A genuine smile—just like the one she'd briefly had on her face when Dale inquired about her unborn son.

"That's how I 'member her. Sittin' in her favorite chair with a cigarette in her hand," Daryl said quietly. He paused to lick his lips and asked, "Did she look anythin' like that when you saw her?"

Beth kept staring at the photo in her hands, studying every feature of Leanne's youthful face. Taking in every detail of the tiny blonde boy perched on her lap.

"Yeah," she confirmed. "Just like this."

A few seconds later, she was still studying the photo when he asked, "Did you see my dad?"

She lifted her eyes to meet his, a frown pulling the corners of her mouth downward. "Briefly… yeah."

"Don't tell me about it," Daryl said simply. "I don't wanna know."

Beth handed the photo back over and watched him take it from her, shoving it back into his wallet and stuffing it all into his back pocket. She had no desire to tell him about what she'd seen of the infamous Will Dixon, anyway.

But her lips were loose from the moonshine. Her heart was full from the long week she'd experienced. And there were only so many things she could omit before she became fit to bursting with secrets. Sure, she could write in her journal about it. But that wouldn't give her any feedback or closure. And yeah, she could vent to Maggie about all of it eventually. Because now Maggie knew the truth, and she was in a position that she could offer advice. But Beth wasn't _looking_ for advice. She hadn't realized it until now—probably thanks to all the liquor that was finally settling in her stomach—but she had an intense desire to spill her heart out. To spew out the details she'd been suppressing all damn day. To just _tell _someone about all the crazy things she'd experienced.

And realistically, if she was going to be completely open with anyone, it should be Daryl. Right? Because it concerned him. It was all about him and his situation. Even if these little aspects didn't relate directly to him… who else would understand better?

So far, he'd proven himself really good at easing her fears. Which she hadn't noticed until now. But if she looked back: who had been there during her most terrifying moments? When she learned about her Gift and supposed birthright? When she witnessed Papa Legba for the first time? When she passed out inside Merle's old cabin? When she collapsed on the floor of the evidence room? When she broke down in tears outside the insurance office?

It was always Daryl. He'd been there, ready to catch her when she fell. Even though he had no obligation to do such a thing.

Before she could stop them, the words slipped from her mouth, "Can I tell you somethin' else? Somethin' _weird_?"

She was wary of meeting his eyes. But when she did, she saw him quirking a brow curiously. He gave a jerk of his head.

"Weirder than all the other shit ya already told me? Or just weird in general?"

She chuckled and shook her head. "I dunno. Weird in a _different_ way, I guess… Jus' somethin' I couldn't really tell you an' Rick today. 'Cause I don't think it'd even make sense."

He snorted. "Yeah, alright. Try me, Greene."

Her expression sombered and she met his gaze with more intensity than before. But the words had already been building inside her head, gathering in her throat and teetering behind her tongue. She was downright eager to talk about it. Because what if there was some detail that she was missing? Some terribly obvious clue that she kept looking past?

Or what if she could talk about all the weird shit she experienced on The Other Side without the fear of judgement? What if he actually tried to _understand_?

Could she confide in Daryl Dixon? Like a real friend?

"When I go over there…" she started, quickly trailing off.

"To The Other Side?"

She nodded. "Yeah."

"Like when yer sleepin'? Or—"

"Any time."

"Oh."

"There's a certain place, and I figured out how to get there on my own, but I still can't _control_ what happens, or what I see. And it's been different every time. Depending on what I'm tryin' to find out. Or what sent me there."

"Right. So…"

She sighed. "When I go there, I… somethin' _weird_ happens. Like—it's like there's a _creature_ inside me. And it's tryin' to escape. Or maybe it's tryin' to lead me in a certain direction. And I can feel it squirming around behind my ribcage. It has arms. Like tentacles. But they kinda look like vines. Those really thick vines, the kind you'd imagine for a fairytale like _Jack and The Beanstalk_ or somethin'. But they're bright yellow. Iridescent. I can see 'em glowin'. They stretch outta my skin and wiggle across the ground, or towards the direction I'm supposed to follow. I think…"

Daryl was staring at her with parted lips, a deep crease in his brow. He seemed to be hanging on her every word, but she couldn't think about that. She tried not to look at him, afraid she'd lose her burst of confidence and go quiet. Besides, she could already feel the relief that was flooding her system. Finally being able to relay one of the details that were difficult to describe. Finally figuring out if it made any damn sense to anyone else, or if she'd just been experiencing another supernatural side effect of The Gift.

She inhaled deeply before continuing, "I think they're some sorta extension of my soul. Or like… my _aura_. Or whatever."

He breathed out through flared nostrils, one eyebrow quirked. "Your _aura_?"

"Ya know," she said, waving a dismissive hand. "Auras—the glow around your soul or your body or whatever, and it's s'posed to be a certain color and that somehow defines what kinda person you are. Like a color that only people with a Third Eye can see."

"Oh," he said, nodding in understanding. "I heard'a that."

"Yeah," she continued. "So… it feels like that."

"Why?" He asked.

"Because…" She hesitated for no more than a split-second. She'd wanted to talk about this, anyway. She'd wanted to tell… someone. And now she needed to explain it comprehensively. Maybe if she said it out loud, it would make it seem more real.

"Because Papa Legba keeps calling me_ Sunshine Girl_. And Florence Newton said somethin' about me being a light in the darkness… So what if it's true? What if they're seein' something I can't see?"

Without missing a beat, Daryl countered with, "Y'just said you saw it. Those beanstalks were bright yellow. Leadin' ya where yer s'posed to go. Maybe that _is_ your aura. An' Legba and everybody else can see it… But you just don't want to."

He made it sound so simple. Beth couldn't help but be taken aback.

"Could it really _be_ that simple, though?" She asked.

He grunted. "Maybe. Maybe not. I ain't no expert."

She smirked. "Me either."

Then he shrugged. "Sounds like enough reason to believe in what you can do. Reckon that old Witch couldn'ta been too far off base, considering all she's seen."

Beth sputtered. "But what can I _do_? Besides see glimpses of the past an' feel other people's pain."

"I'ono. Where was the beanstalks takin' you? Maybe they're s'posed ta guide you—or maybe they're s'posed ta be some kinda lesson 'bout how you can't just blindly follow your instincts."

"Damn," she breathed out, suddenly struck with a different perspective than she'd ever considered. "I… don't know."

He huffed out a half-chuckle. "Me either. Reckon yer barkin' up the wrong tree here, Greene."

She rolled her eyes and flashed him a light-hearted smile. "I wasn't lookin' for answers. Just an outsider's perspective."

"Well, ain't much of an outsider neither—"

But their conversation was interrupted by the faint sound of music drifting through the air.

They both paused and looked around curiously, unsure of whether it was real or not. A soft drum beat. Gentle guitar strums. The taps of keys on a piano. It was gradually getting louder. When they realized they could both hear it, they accepted that it was real. But that didn't explain where it was coming from. It sounded oddly familiar, yet Beth couldn't place the tune.

Then it grew louder. Slowly surrounding them, filling the empty night air.

"_There is someone… walking behind you… turn around, look at me…"_

She finally realized it had to be coming from the Bluetooth speaker in her bag, and she turned around to look.

Sure enough, there was Merle. Leaning against the bike. Watching her and Daryl with nothing less than loathing. Though a smirk was plastered on his face. The creepy song kept playing.

"_There is someone… watching your footsteps… turn around, look at me…"_

Oh, he thought himself clever.

**to be continued… **


	65. Empty Bottle, Full Heart

**Empty Bottle, Full Heart**

All the moonshine in Beth's system did nothing to suppress her obvious annoyance.

"Merle?" Daryl guessed.

She sighed, narrowing her eyes at the dead guy leaning against the bike. "Merle."

The song kept playing and Merle scoffed. "'S this how you party, blondie? 'Cause this's downright pathetic. Couldn't even go to a proper drinkin' establishment? How you expect ta ever get my brother drunk enough to sleep with ya?"

He let out an obnoxious laugh and she rolled her eyes. "Couldn't you have stayed gone for a few more hours?"

"Fuck no," he snapped back. "Only got so much ta occupy myself with, ya know. Wha'ssamatter? Did I cockblock ya?" He cackled.

"Just ignore 'im," Daryl grumbled, turning his attention back towards the distance and the starry sky.

"Easier said than done," Beth muttered. Though she was more grateful than ever that he couldn't hear his brother's remarks.

She got up off the blanket and walked over to the bike, where her bag was still sitting beside it in the grass. The music got louder as she approached, and she quickly opened the bag and reached inside to hit the power button on the speaker.

Then Daryl whipped his head around and caught her attention. "Didn't have ta turn it off. Jus' play sum'n else."

Merle _tsk_ed, sarcastically checking a non-existent watch on his wrist. "Ain't you gotta go to _church_ in a few hours, princess? It's way past yer bedtime."

She ignored him and turned towards Daryl, speaker clutched in one hand and her phone in the other. "Really?"

He grunted without turning back. "Why not."

"Well what do you wanna hear?"

"I dunno. Somethin' good."

Beth recalled their road trip to Florida and tried to remember what music Daryl had seemed to like. Merle was muttering and lighting up a smoke behind her, and maybe it was the alcohol making her feel more generous than usual, but she figured she'd better pick something _both_ Dixon boys liked. Merle hadn't quite ruined this place for her yet, and she preferred to try and keep it that way. Which meant she'd have to placate him every now and again.

That proved easier to do with the help of a little moonshine.

A few minutes later, she was sitting beside Daryl atop the wool blanket again. They were so close that their thighs were almost touching. She didn't feel nearly as self-conscious as usual, though. The Bluetooth speaker was sitting at the end of the blanket behind them, playing her classic country playlist at a medium volume. The music echoed out around them and bounced back from the trees, fading out into the distance and across the wide open fields.

Something about listening to music under the stars with a little booze in her belly made Beth feel more elated than she could remember feeling in a long time. More carefree. Even with Merle around.

He made some crass comments, but once he realized she was actually ignoring him, he went quiet. The next thing she knew, he was lying on his back in the grass beside the blanket, hands behind his head while he stared up at the sky and wiggled his foot to the music. He lit up another smoke and used one hand to support his head while the other lifted his cigarette to and from his mouth. He exhaled clouds of smoke that disappeared above him.

He must've felt her looking at him because he turned his head and flashed her a cheeky smirk. "This place's a lot nicer at night, ya know. Wasn't shit to look at last time."

She rolled her eyes and turned away, but there was a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. A complacent Merle was something worth smiling about.

Three full songs played before Daryl moved a muscle. He pulled a crumpled cigarette pack from his vest pocket and lit one up. Then he went back to sitting like a statue, his only movements the occasional nod of his head to the music and lifting the cigarette to his mouth for long drags. Beth was too lost in all the thoughts swirling around inside her foggy brain to take much notice.

It was odd because, of the very few times she'd ever been "drunk" in her life, none of them had been quite like this. Calm. Quiet. Relaxed. A peace that settled over her and everything around her, even though she had been unable to find any semblance of peace for the last… several years. Just for tonight, she felt like everything might be okay.

At the same time, it made her realize why alcohol was so dangerous. Her daddy had warned her of exactly this. He'd told her all about how it was way too easy to use booze as a crutch in order to avoid your responsibilities and the stress of life.

Well, it wasn't like she was gonna run off and do something like this every weekend. Or even every year. Besides, with her Gift, who knew what could happen if she got drunk and lost control, or let her mind slip away somewhere she didn't want to go. She would never risk something like that.

All she'd been looking for was one night of clarity. And between the stars and the soft music and the comforting presence of the man beside her—the _living_ man—she was pretty sure she'd found it. She was already looking at Daryl in a slightly different light than before.

Wait… that's not what she meant. She was looking at their _situation_ in a different light. Not _Daryl_. She just wanted to be his friend. And she was grateful that they could have a chance to share things like friends do. That's all.

A Waylon Jennings song started playing, and halfway through the first verse, Daryl spoke and broke her out of her thoughts. She turned her head and looked at him to find that he was gazing over at her with a contemplative expression.

"Y'ever think about… how this is gonna end?"

Beth furrowed her brow. "How what's gonna end?"

He hesitated for a second. Then he said, "The Governor."

"'Course I think about it. I've _been_ thinkin' about it ever since we found out his name."

"And…?"

"And what?"

He shrugged. "You think it's gonna end by sendin' him back to prison?"

"Only way it's gonna _end_ is with his scrawny fuckin' neck hangin' from a noose," Merle piped up smugly. "While I waltz my way down to Hell with Papa Legba and a dead stripper on my arm."

She tuned him out and focused on Daryl, even though those words sent a chill down her spine. She didn't _want_ to think about it. Wasn't that the whole point of coming out here and chugging moonshine straight from the bottle?

She looked away, gazing out towards the dark horizon while she clutched her knees a little tighter against her chest. "If we play our cards right, we could corner him. Get some kinda incriminating evidence. Rick might be able to pull some strings—then we could make sure he gets locked away for good. So he can't hurt nobody else."

Daryl grunted. She could feel his eyes on her, as though he were refusing to look away despite how uncomfortable it was making her. She didn't like being in the spotlight like this, being forced to discuss something she was purposely trying to avoid.

"And you believe that?" He asked quietly. "You think the legal system'll have our back on this one?"

"If yer asking whether I believe in Rick Grimes or not, then I think you know the answer," Beth responded sharply. "_He's_ got our back."

"Bootlicker," Merle chirped.

"Not what I'm askin'," Daryl said. "You _know_ what I mean. You know what the likelihood actually is. He ain't more'an a small-town sheriff with a couple connections. An' I'm not gettin' the impression that he has a whole lotta faith in the justice system when it comes to lockin' Philip up. Can't see how he could ever make a legitimate legal case outta this mess."

One half of Beth wanted to snap back, _Then I guess that's why you're not a cop. _But the other half of her felt no need to jump to the defense. She'd genuinely thought she was done talking about this after her conversation with Dale; that she wasn't ready to discuss it any further, to debate her own morals. Not yet, anyway.

But now that Daryl was urging her on with the same doubts she'd already been experiencing, she was second-guessing her choice to shove it away as a problem to be dealt with later. Maybe he could give her a different perspective on this, as well. Maybe the moral conflict was eating away at him similarly to how it was literally haunting her.

She still didn't turn to meet his eyes as she said, "I really wanna believe he can. Somehow. That we can do what's right and put this guy behind bars, where he belongs. But… yeah. It's hard to imagine how we could ever make it all legal. I'm not _stupid_, y'know. I don't think Rick's got some kinda superpowers just because he's a sheriff. I just…"

She trailed off and Daryl guessed, "Just wanna have faith that it'll all work out fer the best. So we can go back to normal without consequence."

"Yeah," she confirmed. "That."

He sighed. "Wish I could say the same. But faith ain't never done shit fer me."

Beth finally looked over at him and saw his shoulders slumped, his face obscured by shagging hair as he gazed out across the field. "Yes, it has. You had faith that your brother didn't kill himself."

Merle interjected, "Nah. That was just common sense." She ignored him.

Daryl shrugged listlessly and met her eyes. "And look where _that's_ gotten me."

She let out a deep sigh. "So what?" The moonshine had left her mouth dry, but the words still poured from her lips without much inhibition. "What's the worst case scenario, Daryl? That we have to kill The Governor ourselves?"

"Yeah," he said. "Obviously."

She shook her head. "It won't come to that."

"And how d'you know?"

"I just do. It _can't_ come to that. There's gotta be some other way."

"Like what?"

"I dunno—like some serious psychiatric help," she said with certainty. "Philip is sick in the head. I saw his journal in Dale's memories. I saw what kinda crap he thinks about, how he views the world. He's _mentally ill_. He needs _help_."

Daryl scoffed. "So you gonna give it to 'im? 'Cause from what I've seen, dude don't seem too willing to accept help. Can't be _that_ sick if he's capable of committing premeditated murder."

"I'm not a psychologist, I don't know _what's_ wrong with him—I just know he doesn't deserve to _die_."

"But _I _did?!" Merle objected.

She snapped her head around to glare at the dead Dixon. "An eye for an eye leaves the whole world blind. We're not lookin' for _vengeance_, we're lookin' for _justice_."

"Fuck that," he spat. "An eye for an eye leaves everybody with one eye each. Y'all can still see just fine."

"Who said I was only lookin' fer justice?" Daryl argued.

Beth blinked, trying to ignore the dead Dixon and focus on the living one. "Then what're you looking for? _Revenge_?"

"He's a Dixon, ain't he," Merle remarked.

But Daryl just shrugged and looked away. "I'ono. But this asshole already tried ta kill me once. Reckon I _owe_ him one… if it comes down to it."

She couldn't honestly disagree with that because she knew she'd never convince either Dixon brother otherwise. She tried to imagine how she might feel if she were in Daryl's shoes—would she want revenge, too? Or would she be strong enough to accept that killing Phillip would never bring Leanne or Merle back? That something like life and death was far too big to ever be one person's decision?

She couldn't say, because she would never know. Not really. The only person who had ever made any attempt on her life was… herself. And even that had been difficult to forgive.

It had been so easy to shoot Dale down when he tried preaching old adages to her. Yet here she was, turning around and repeating those same words with a chest full of doubt.

"I guess that's your decision to make then," she muttered. "If it comes down to it…"

But she couldn't stop thinking about Dale's advice. _"You cannot be the judge, jury, and executioner. Not even when you think you're justified."_

"You don't _have_ to be okay with it," Daryl said. "I wouldn't expect ya to understand."

"I know, but it affects me too…"

_And what if you get sent to prison for killing Philip? Or worse—Hell? _She wanted to ask. She didn't, though.

He grunted and didn't say anything else. Merle was sucking loudly on his teeth, audibly discontent.

They all sat in silence for a long moment. Beth was beginning to feel both mentally and emotionally exhausted. She hadn't planned on talking about such heavy things when she first suggested they come out here. She certainly hadn't _wanted _to talk about such heavy things. Yet admittedly, it felt satisfying. She'd hoped Daryl would let her in. And she could almost swear that his tall walls were slowly beginning to come down.

And maybe hers were, too. Unintentionally. Was this what it meant to be a light in someone's life? Would she be unpacking another box the next time she visited that bedroom in her mind?

She couldn't be sure. She was too drunk. Her head was spinning, and her whole body felt restless. She was afraid she'd wake up in a few hours and regret everything she'd said. She wanted to stop thinking about it altogether.

Daryl seemed to agree in his own way. He stopped talking and went quiet, lighting up a fresh smoke from the crinkly pack in his vest. On Beth's other side, Merle was doing the same. _Ring of Fire_ was playing softly from the speaker, and he wiggled his foot to the music while gazing up at the stars.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer," Merle grumbled, shooting her a side-eye.

She rolled her eyes and quipped back, "Wouldn't show up anyway."

He actually chuckled at that, but she was already turning back to Daryl and watching him take long drags from the cigarette pinched between his fingers. Her mind wouldn't stop racing, replays of memories and flashes of emotion from her long day spent inside other people's heads. Apparently, booze hadn't been the numbing factor she'd hoped it would be.

"Y'know," Daryl spoke up once he felt her watching him, azure eyes flicking over to meet hers for just a second. "If yer brother needs help on the farm—"

"I _really_ don't wanna talk about that anymore," she cut him off. "Not right now…"

He grunted and shrugged, exhaling a cloud of tar and nicotine. "Whatever."

Then Beth reached her hand out towards his cigarette and asked, "Can I try that?"

He gave her a look of bewilderment. "Huh?"

"Yer cigarette," she clarified.

"Uh—really?"

"Why not?"

He snorted. "'Cause you don't smoke. Bet ya ain't ever smoked nothin' in yer life, huh?"

She blushed, ignoring Merle's taunting laughter. "No, but I want to. Just to try it."

Daryl hesitated, then he shrugged indifferently and held out the cigarette for her to take. She carefully pinched it between the second knuckles of her index and middle fingers, trying to mimic the way he held it. Then she brought it up to her lips and took a small drag. He watched with surprise, the hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

As soon as the harsh smoke hit her throat, she started coughing. He quickly took the cigarette back and stifled a laugh while she tried to catch her breath.

"Didn't even fuckin' inhale, princess!" Merle teased, laughing loudly.

"That's—awful!" Beth sputtered through the coughs. "Oh, God. No. Nope, that's not fer me."

Daryl chuckled and took a long drag, as if to show off how easy it was for him. He exhaled smoke through his teeth and smirked. "Nasty habit, Greene. Dunno why you'd wanna try it."

She finally stopped coughing and took in a deep breath of fresh air, letting out a bashful giggle. "I know. It's stupid. Jus' thought there might be somethin' to it if you like it so much."

He grunted. "That was yer first mistake."

"What?"

"Thinkin' anything I do is worth doin'."

She rolled her eyes and brushed him off. "So you're just as self-loathing even when you're drunk, huh?"

Merle barked out a laugh but Daryl turned away, muttering under his breath. "Who said I was drunk?"

"You're _not_?!" She giggled. "'Cause I'm definitely feelin' that moonshine."

"Yeah, 'cause yer a lightweight," he remarked. But she could see a smirk peeking out from beneath his shagging hair.

She gazed over at him for a moment, and even though the butterflies were coming to life in her belly, she was itching to let the truth spill from her lips. So she did.

"Y'know, I really do admire you, Daryl Dixon."

That made his head whip to the side, narrowed eyes meeting hers. He frowned and furrowed his brow. "Huh?"

"I mean it," she insisted, knowing full well he'd heard her. "I think you might be the strongest person I've ever met."

He blinked and continued staring at her like she'd grown a second head. Merle was laughing behind her, but she didn't really care.

"Guess I'm just chopped liver, huh—even though I fought fer yer _freedom_," the dead Dixon commented. "I's a veteran, ya know. Darylina didn't even graduate high school."

Not only did she not really care about what Merle was saying, but she was finding it easier and easier to tune him out. Especially when Daryl was staring at her so intently, studying her as though he thought she might be trying to trick him.

"You _are_ drunk," the living Dixon finally mumbled, shaking his head and glancing away from her. "I better get you home soon."

Beth heaved out a sigh of frustration. "I'm serious, Daryl. Why's it so hard for you to believe?"

But he just waved her off and continued smoking his cigarette, gazing out at the storm clouds in the distance.

Apparently, the alcohol had made her a little _too_ sentimental and loose-lipped. Maybe she should just focus on keeping her mouth shut. She had a feeling she'd _definitely_ regret allowing _that_ statement to slip out come morning.

A couple minutes passed in what probably would've been an awkward silence if Beth were sober. But she was drifting away with her thoughts while Daryl smoked and sat quietly. She was thinking about all the things her dad and sister had told her about being drunk; all the little warnings and the etiquette and the fear they'd instilled within her. The precautions they'd ensured she'd need if she were to become uninhibited. And how she wasn't sure why they'd ever worried to begin with.

Because yeah, this was fun. In a way. It made certain things easier to say, and certain things easier to feel. But it was nothing compared to how she felt around Daryl without alcohol. Not to mention, he actually took her seriously when she wasn't drinking. So that was something she'd stay mindful of.

Yeah. This was a nice little one-off sorta thing. But it certainly wasn't something she'd want to do every weekend. Or even every month. Besides, it hadn't helped ease her mind at all in the way she thought it might. Which meant there really _was_ no escape from her Gift.

_Guess I'd better just accept it and do my best, _she thought.

Her classic country playlist was still echoing around them from the speaker that sat on the edge of the blanket. Both Dixon brothers seemed to be "vibing," as Beth's friends would say. Sitting silently and casually wiggling their feet to the music, smoking their cigarettes and staring up at the stars.

_My friends, _she thought. _What friends? From high school? The ones I haven't talked to in six years besides on social media?_

She glanced from Daryl to Merle and back again.

_Shit. Are these my only friends? A dead guy and a dude who only tolerates me because of what I can do?_

Her daddy's voice echoed in her head: _"Everyone needs friends. You can't make it through life all alone."_

Well, she _wasn't_ all alone. She never had been. Not really. And she had a feeling that she wouldn't ever be again. Not if Daryl had anything to say about it.

Beth didn't realize what song had begun playing until she heard Daryl snickering to himself. She turned to give him a puzzled look and he flashed her a bashful half-smile before glancing away.

"Ain't heard this song in years," he said.

She listened and realized it was an upbeat old tune. Something that used to play while she danced in the kitchen with her mom. She could still remember how her daddy had smiled when he walked in, and how he'd eagerly joined them in dancing around and singing along.

There was a rush of nostalgia and an urge she'd been trying to suppress for the last hour. And then she was standing to her feet, grinning the whole time, and reaching over to turn the music up. It blared a little louder around them, bouncing off trees in the distance and filling their tiny space of solace with twangy guitar sounds and a voice straight from the 90s.

Beth stepped out into the grass and began dancing, swishing her hair around and allowing all the pent-up energy within her bones to escape carelessly.

"_But don't tell my heart, my achy breaky heart! I just don't think he'd understand!"_

Merle had sat up and started laughing while he watched her, and Daryl was gazing at her with the same spark of amusement on his face, chuckling softly. She couldn't even say she cared. She was too caught up in her own reminiscence, dancing in the beam of the motorcycle headlight and singing along happily.

"_And if you tell my heart, my achy breaky heart, he might blow up and kill this man!"_

She kept at it even though she could feel her face turning bright red. Daryl just kept shaking his head and smiling awkwardly, but Merle was getting excited. The dead Dixon finally jumped to his feet during the last chorus and sang along with Beth.

And she could've said she hated it, but that would be a lie. If there'd ever been an opportunity to "bond" with Merle, this was it. And it was fairly effortless.

She knew he missed being alive, but she hadn't really been convinced that he missed _these_ parts of life.

Maybe it was the moonshine. She couldn't be sure. But dammit, she felt like laughing and dancing and remembering a simpler time. And even Daryl Dixon's judgmental gaze wouldn't ruin that right now.

Not that he was necessarily watching her in a _judgmental_ way. But she could tell that he felt slightly awkward. Almost out of place. As though he didn't know how to respond to this kind of spontaneous happiness.

"Get up, loser," she teased, grinning and reaching out a hand to urge him up. "Dance with us!"

"Us?"

"He can't see me, genius," Merle sniggered, pausing his dancing to take a drag off his cigarette. "Only reason I'm lettin' loose." Then he laughed and resumed bobbing his head and shaking his hips to the music.

"Me an' Merle are havin' the time of our lives," Beth told Daryl. "Can't ya tell?" She laughed.

But Daryl shook his head at her outreached hand and refused to stand up. Billy Ray Cyrus's voice faded out and the song changed. Beth paused, breathing heavily. Merle let out a groan.

"Nah, nah," he said. The music switched and he grinned. "_There_ we go."

The song that had been starting to play abruptly stopped, switching over to something entirely different. The instrumentals were quiet at first, gradually growing louder—and spookier. Beth stared at Merle quizzically until she recognized the tune.

"Oh, you asshole!" She cried. Though she was smiling and a laugh burst from her lips as soon as she'd said it.

"_I'm just an average man, with an average life—"_

Merle threw his head back and laughed loudly, then he chucked his burnt-down cigarette butt into the grass, where it disappeared entirely. He shrugged and shook his hips to the beat, performing a mockery of Beth's dancing. "Thought you'd dig it, blondie. It's our song!"

"—_but why do I always feel like I'm in the Twilight Zone?"_

"Merle play this?" Daryl guessed. He tossed out his burnt-down cigarette and finally stood to his feet, hesitantly approaching her.

Beth giggled. "How'd you know?"

"_I always feel like, somebody's watchin' me-eeeee!"_

Merle sang along happily, bobbing his head and shaking his hips with more enthusiasm than she'd ever seen from him.

"_People call me on the phone, I'm trying to avoid, well can the people on TV see me, or am I just paranoid?"_

She didn't quite realize she was gripping Daryl's hand and forcing him to dance along with her until halfway through the song. Then it wasn't so much forcing him as it was… just having fun with him.

"_Who's playin' tricks on me? I don't know anymore. Are the neighbors watching me?"_

There were a lot of firsts tonight. Because now, for the first time since she'd met him, Beth was witnessing Daryl loosen up. He didn't actually dance, nor did he really move. But he stood and let Beth twirl around him, and when she started singing along obnoxiously, he just chuckled and shook his head and lit up another cigarette.

Merle belted out the lyrics as they played, even though Beth was the only one who could hear him.

"_I always feel like… somebody's watchin' me-eeee!"_

"Christ, never thought I'd wanna do this sober," he remarked, a smile on his face that she'd never seen before. "But I got a feelin' there ain't much partying in Hell—might as well live it up while I'm still Earthside!"

Beth didn't say so, but she had a feeling he was right.

"_Who's playin' tricks on me?"_

**to be continued…**

* * *

**A/N: **Since I can't PM in reply to comments left by anonymous users, I'll just publicly reply here.

Review from "Bethylguest": _Interesting chapter but when are they going to realize that you can't sell someone else's soul? Doesn't work that way. Everyone has free will-their soul is their own._

Thank you for reading and commenting, Bethylguest. As much as I appreciate your criticism, I can't say it's really constructive. If you refer back to **chapter 18**, Papa Legba explains the terms and conditions pretty clearly. Yes, Merle very much **does** have the ability to wager his brother's soul due to traumatic circumstances, and even though Daryl has Free Will, that does **not** extend to The Other Side. I am not following any strict religious beliefs/rules in this fic. It's a big jumble of multiple religions, beliefs, and cultural lore. This is my universe and I'm making the rules up as I go, and I already decided that other people can wager souls that are not their own in certain circumstances. Sorry if that's disappointing, but that's how it is in this fic.  
If you have any other criticism that could be helpful, please feel free to leave it in a comment or PM me :)


	66. Cockblocking The Cycle

**Cockblocking The Cycle**

"Y'sure yer good?"

Beth giggled, nodding. "Yes Daryl, I'm fine."

She was standing out by the old barn where Daryl had picked her up while he sat on his bike and bid her goodbye. The motor was rumbling idly and he kept both feet on the ground, staring intently over the handlebars. Almost hesitant to leave.

And she had to admit, she was hesitant to walk away, too. She didn't want this night to end. For a few hours, she'd managed to escape the rest of the world and enjoy a place of solace with Daryl. She'd even managed to form something that resembled a bond with Merle.

But every good thing has to come to an end.

Daryl scoffed. "Lucky yer a happy drunk."

"Not at first," she reminded him.

"Nah. Not at first," he agreed. "But after a few shots." He was smirking, gazing at her with an expression of amusement.

"Well, we gotta have fun where we can."

"Reckon yer right."

"Ain't no point unless we're havin' _fun_—right?" She raised her eyebrows pointedly.

He rolled his eyes, but his smirk remained.

Then her grin quickly faded and she glanced down at her phone. "Crap. I have to be up in like, less than four hours."

He huffed out a breath. "Sucks ta be you."

"Thanks a lot," she teased. "Guess I better get inside and try to sleep—thanks fer hangin' out with me."

"Don't mention it." He gave a clipped nod and flipped up the kickstand, tightening his grip on the handlebars. "'Specially if yer family asks. Don't think yer daddy'd be too _keen_ on the idea of you sneakin' out to get drunk in a field with me."

Beth laughed. "Probably not, but he can't say much. I _am_ an _adult_, ya know. And I think we both needed a drink after the week we've had."

"Yeah, yeah," Daryl muttered. "Still." Then he revved the engine and jerked his chin towards the house behind her. "Best get ta bed, Greene. An' drink some water. God's gonna be expectin' ya in the mornin'."

"You too, Dixon."

A few moments later, she was standing on the side of the road by the old barn, watching his motorcycle crest the hill and disappear, leaving nothing but echoes and a cloud of dust in his wake. Her head was still spinning from the moonshine, but the butterflies were very much present in her stomach. Fluttering around wildly and making her heart sputter. And all she could think about was when she'd have a reason to see him again.

She couldn't really tell, because it had been so many years since she'd experienced such a thing, but…

Was this what it was like to have a friend?

Or was she actually _crushing_ on the guy whose soul she was supposed to be saving?

* * *

Beth snuck into the house through the back door and crept up the stairs and down the hall, retreating inside her bedroom without making a sound. She could hear the distinct snores of Shawn and Hershel from behind their bedroom doors, but Maggie and Glenn's room was completely dark and silent. Thankfully, no one seemed to notice Beth's absence.

Merle had disappeared as soon as Beth and Daryl packed up and mounted the motorcycle. She'd hoped that he would stay gone for the rest of the night, but right after she changed into pajamas and switched off her bedside lamp, he showed up.

She was already halfway into bed, sitting up with her legs beneath the blanket. Merle was perched in her desk chair. He was leaning back, arms crossed over his chest and knees spread leisurely.

"Didn't know you could get down like that, _Doodlebug_."

She couldn't help but laugh. She slid down into the bed, lying down and resting the back of her head against the pillow while she pulled the blanket up to her chest. "Just like I didn't know you could be so _bearable_."

He chuckled. "Would've if you'd known me when I was alive. I'm a downright _party animal_. Just ask Daryl."

She shut her eyes and nestled into bed. "Nah, I'm good."

Merle scoffed. "Oh, c'mon. I thought we was _friends_ now. Didn't we just _bond_ out there?"

She didn't respond.

He scoffed again. "You passin' out already? Ain't even two a.m. yet."

"And I have to be up at five. So just be quiet for a few hours."

He sighed with audible discontent.

There was a moment of peace, during which Beth thought she might be able to drift off despite her messy brain. But then Merle spoke again and ruined it.

She should've known he wouldn't shut up and let her sleep that easily.

"Well ya sure bonded with _somebody_ out there… Yer catchin' _feelings_, ain'tcha sweetheart?"

She tried to ignore him. But he took her silence as affirmation.

"Ya hear that phone ringin'? Better pick up, 'cause I fuckin' _called it_. Since day one—_knew_ you'd get a crush on my pussy little brother. Yer just the type that would."

She kept ignoring him. Silently praying that he would just stop talking and let her drift off. Surely, if he got no reaction, he'd have no reason to keep going.

But when was that ever the case for Merle?

"Can't say I blame ya. Hell, I wanna be mad about it, but what reason do I got? Yer jus' a sheltered li'l farm girl. Don't know no better. Reckon runnin' off with him is the most dangerous thing ya ever done. 'Course yer gonna go fallin' all head-over-heels fer the bad boy with a motorcycle—'specially when he's helpin' ya sneak out an' get drunk… This's the most action you've had since high school, ain't it, princess?"

It was becoming more and more difficult to ignore him. Beth was gritting her teeth and squeezing her eyes shut, hoping he'd assume she'd already fallen asleep. But he knew better. Somehow, Merle _always_ knew.

He sucked his teeth and made a grunted sound of disapproval. "My brother ain't some _fling_ ta be had, ya know. He ain't some experience you can just write about in yer diary. You might think I'm jealous an' spiteful an' full of fuckin' shit… but you know just as well as I do that you wouldn't have _nothin'_ to do with him if it weren't for my deal with Papa Legba."

"Don't say his name."

Beth's eyes opened and she looked over to lock her gaze with Merle's through the darkness of her bedroom. She could barely make him out in the light of the moon that leaked in from the windows, but she could see the smirk plainly plastered on his face; the look of satisfaction from receiving a reaction.

"Why not? Is he _scarier_ now?" Merle taunted. "Now that ya know he could take away yer prospective boyfriend forever?"

She shut her eyes again and pulled the blanket up a little higher over her chest.

She shouldn't have said anything, though. Because she was only urging Merle to continue. Every response she might've had was no more than fuel for his growing flame of resentment.

He huffed out an agitated breath and she could hear him shifting his weight in the desk chair. Uncrossing and recrossing his arms. Spreading his knees a little wider. She didn't have to look to know that his eyes were narrowing at her. The angry frown was audible in his tone.

"Y'all sure talked about a lot out there. But ya didn't tell him the truth 'bout our mama—'bout what you saw."

Her breath hitched, but she tried not to make it obvious. She kept her eyes shut tight.

_Of course_ he'd heard everything they talked about. There was no escaping him.

Merle grunted. "How come? Y'think it'd break his heart? 'Cause he already _knows_ how she was treated. You wouldn't be the first one ta tell 'im 'bout our mean ol' pa. Won't be the last neither… So why'd ya hold back now? Huh?"

Beth was gritting her teeth and clenching her jaw, forcing herself to breathe steadily through her nose. It was becoming more difficult, though. She wanted to tune him out completely. But that was well past impossible.

"I _know_, blondie," he muttered ominously. "I 'member that day. One'a the only memories I got from when I was a kid… Gettin' kicked outta the grocery store—all 'cause I was try'na feed that fuckin' fetus inside my mama's womb. I got one helluva beating that night, tell ya what. Worth it, though. She'd'a got beat twice as bad if she'd let that nosey Horvath drive us home… Our pa _always_ knew. Wasn't no secrets from him. People talk. 'Specially in _this_ town. Shit, if we'd come home with a jar of peanut butter he didn't buy, he might'a killed us _both_. Daryl wouldn'ta never saw the light'a day."

There was a deep ache forming in Beth's chest as she recalled that memory through Dale Horvath's eyes. A scrawny little Merle, covered in bruises and dressed in filthy, too-small clothing. His and Daryl's mother being pinched and berated by the man she'd vowed to love for better or for worse.

And all Daryl had left of the woman who'd birthed him and cared for him was a faded old polaroid and whatever hearsay stories went around town.

Merle only paused for a couple seconds before he went on, a scornful edge sharpening his tone, "You think yer _protecting_ him now? You think blurrin' the truth is gonna make this _easier_? 'Cause yer sorely mistaken, princess. He already _knows_ the truth. And you ain't doin' him no favors by try'na paint some pretty picture of the past." He scoffed. "I know you don't wanna be the bearer of bad news, but you ain't gonna get nowhere if ya keep tryin' to dull all the sharp edges. That boy was _born_ outta hardship; you could learn a thing or two from 'im. Life ain't a fairytale."

She'd been biting her tongue so long that she could no longer bear to keep doing so. Her eyes shot open and flicked over to meet Merle's, and she blurted out, "And what good is it gonna do to hurt him _more_? All he has left of your mom is some sad old picture. And whatever I tell him from my visions. Don't you think he's suffered enough?"

Without blinking, Merle responded, "Suffering's a part of life. Makes ya who you are—"

"It _builds_ _character_," Beth interjected.

His lips snapped shut at that. He tensed up. She knew she'd hit a nerve.

Maybe she shouldn't have said that. But how could she help herself? Daryl had his demons. So did Merle. And thanks to her Gift, she knew about all of them. She remembered, very clearly, which words Papa Legba had spoken that struck Merle silent. And she wasn't above employing them in a time of need.

"Fuck off," he grumbled, glaring daggers at her.

"Well it does, doesn't it?" She countered. "That's how you were raised. So that's how Daryl should be treated for his whole life—right? The more pain, the more character? Is that how it goes?"

Merle scowled. His arms tightened over his chest. "You know damn well that's not what I mean. Fuckin' smartass."

"So there's different rules for you an' Daryl? Even though you were both abused by the same father? Even though you both lost the same mother? For some reason, Daryl's supposed to suffer like you did because it'll… what? Make him more like _you_? Is that the goal here? You want him to end up some bitter old dead guy, just like the men who came before him?"

"You think yer real fuckin' clever, don'tcha? Shove it up yer ass. I ain't listenin' to this from some bitch who's never had a real job."

Beth heaved an exasperated sigh and glared at Merle with contempt. "And when was the last time _you_ had a real job? When you were in the military?"

He turned his head and spat angrily, but nothing appeared on the floor. His scowl deepened and he returned her glare with icy narrowed eyes and equal contempt. "I did more during my time in Afghanistan than yer whole family could do in fifty _years_, sweetcheeks. Y'keep speakin' ill of the dead like that, might find yerself sittin' right beside me down in Papa Legba's ghetto."

She rolled her eyes right before slamming them shut, breathing out heavily through her nostrils and holding back a retort. It was hard not to argue, especially when she was so used to slinging cheap insults back and forth with her siblings. But most of those arguments ended with some sort of progress, and she knew better than to expect such a thing from any kind of argument with Merle. She shouldn't have ever fed into his bullshit to begin with.

Beth rolled over and pulled the blanket tighter across her body, her back turned to him. He humphed like he was satisfied.

Whatever. She was willing to let him think he'd "won" if it meant getting a few hours of sleep before church. Her head was still swimming from the alcohol, but she could tell it was starting to wear off. It was harder to laugh things off, and she was growing more irritable and stressed.

She had to remind herself not to let her mind drift too far before she fell asleep. To maintain control and _remember herself_. So she tried to focus on that.

But apparently, Merle wasn't quite satisfied enough to drop it and shut up. He sucked on his teeth obnoxiously, humming and hawing under his breath. Beth tried desperately to tune him out.

Regardless, he didn't care that she was obviously trying to sleep. And she was only afforded a few moments of peace before he huffed out a dramatic sigh, as if to demand her attention.

As if she had any other choice _but_ to listen to him.

Then he spoke with a tone full of resentment, though it was quickly softening, "Now listen, blondie. 'Cause I'm only gonna say this once, an' the only reason I'm sayin' it is 'cause I know you won't repeat it. Hell, even if ya did, Daryl'd never believe ya."

Beth opened her eyes, but she didn't turn to face him. She stared at the wall, lips pursed and fingers gripping the blanket.

"I give a shit about ya," Merle said. "Alrigh'? I actually fuckin' _care_ whether you live or die—or whether ya end up sufferin' down in Hell or prancin' 'round in Heaven… whatever the fuck it might be yer s'posed ta do up there with all them boring-ass Mormons."

She swallowed hard, unsure of what point he was attempting to make. Should she be offended or flattered?

"And that's sayin' a helluva lot. Ya hear me? 'Cause I ain't never cared about _nobody_ 'cept me an' Daryl…"

Well, at least he could admit it.

"But yer alright, Greene."

Wow, he actually used one of her real names. Now she _knew_ he was being genuine.

"I reckon ya ain't the _worst_ broad I coulda got stuck with… Shit, sometimes I think ya might actually have a decent head on them weak li'l shoulders. If you'd just grow the fuck up already."

Okay, that kinda ruined it. Where was he going with this, anyway? She shut her eyes again and tried to slow her breathing.

"I know you ain't sleepin'," he went on. "So ya best listen ta me an' take this shit ta heart. 'Cause ya might think yer all grown up now, but yer _not_. Not even close. An' if ya don't do it fer yerself, somebody else is gonna _make_ ya do it. Daryl's a good guy—I'll admit it. But he ain't _perfect_. Y'all get along real well, even though he's got a couple decades' worth of experience on ya… And why you think that is, blondie? 'S not 'cause yer at the same level, I can tell ya that damn much. He's _different_. He's _miles_ fuckin' ahead of you, even if it seems like he's not… You go gettin' too close, an' he's gonna end up draggin' you down a path you never wanted to take. He'll _force_ you to grow up."

What the fuck? She lay in stunned silence, eyebrows furrowing as she listened.

"And you don't want that. Trust me."

Beth shifted just slightly beneath the blanket and mumbled, "I don't think you're in a position to be giving advice."

Merle snorted. "Oh yeah? You gonna tell me I don't know shit? Like I don't know how my family operated? 'Cause outta all them visions you've had, not one of 'em showed you who my mama was _before_ she met my pa."

_Why would they?_ She almost asked. _How would that matter?_ But she bit her tongue, because she knew better by now.

Everything mattered. Even the stuff that happened to people long dead and gone. If she'd learned anything, it was that _everything_ was connected in one way or another.

He could see her tensing under the blanket and he chortled coldly. "Thing is, Miss Leanne Jacobs was a lot like you back in the day. God-fearin', do-goodin', perfect little honor roll prissy girl…"

Beth gritted her teeth, glaring daggers at the wall because she didn't dare turn over and glare them at Merle.

Then he surprised her when he continued with, "But I'll be damned if she wasn't a force ta be reckoned with. She was smart. Independent. Determined. She knew what she wanted, knew what she believed in, and she didn't ever let _nobody_ tell her any different… Not even her folks."

Now Beth was really confused. She couldn't resist glancing back over her shoulder, only to find Merle staring down at his hands in his lap. What she could see of his expression appeared almost remorseful in the sparse light of the moon through the windows. He didn't even notice her looking at him.

The smug stiffness that was usually present in his shoulders seemed deflated, and his voice lowered just a bit as he went on. "Way I heard it, my pa came in an' ruined her whole damn life. But I know it wasn't him. Not entirely… She could'a left him in the dust if it weren't fer the fuckin' demon seed he planted inside her… She was barely outta high school when she got knocked up with me. He was older, had his own place, seemed to have his shit together. I don't blame 'er fer havin' faith. That's what females do—they're naive, even when they're as tough as she was. She wanted ta hope fer the best. Wanted to do what she thought was right. Even when shit got unbearable. That's just the kinda woman she was. Always toughin' it out fer other people. Always sufferin' for the sake of the greater good. But… _Christ_."

He sighed, long and deep. Beth could hear anger in his voice, and age-old resentment—but more than that, it was exhaustion. An exhaustion she hadn't ever heard from him before. A tired regret. The kind that left you feeling defeated, even after death.

"My existence ruined that poor girl's life," he said definitively. "'Cause not long after I came 'round, my pa _broke_ her. An' that's the thing that really fuckin' gets me… Daryl never got to _know_ the woman ol' Will Dixon married. Shit, I barely even got a glimpse of her myself. A couple blurry memories here an' there from when I was still in diapers. But by the time Daryl came along… she was long gone. Nothin' more'an a shell of who she used ta be. Who she _should'a_ been. She got all soft, couldn't bear ta leave the father of her children—no matter how much he beat us. He was all she had. All her friends moved away or moved on, 'cause Lord knows she wasn't allowed to have nobody 'cept her _dear husband_. Her parents died a couple years after I was born, but it wouldn'ta mattered anyhow. They disowned her fer havin' a baby outta wedlock an' givin' up on her college plans just to shack up with some older guy… They never much liked Will Dixon, and I can't say I blame 'em. Wish she would'a listened to 'em in the first place. Should'a just scooped me out with a coathanger when she had the chance. Coulda saved us all some trouble."

Beth finally rolled over and faced Merle, eyes narrowed in skepticism. He met her gaze with a deep frown.

"That sounds terrible," she said quietly. "And I'm sorry you feel that way, and I'm even more sorry your mama had to go through that… But what's it got to do with me?"

He sighed in frustration and shook his head, anger hardening his features. "Don't you fuckin' _get it_, girl? I'm try'na give you a heads-up here. I'm pourin' my goddamn _heart_ out an' lettin' you know I give a shit about where you end up in life."

Beth didn't move except to wrap the blanket a little tighter around herself. "How? By comparing me to your dead mom? I don't really see the connection yer tryin' to make."

Merle groaned and stood to his feet, taking a step towards the bed and glaring down at her. He jabbed a finger in her direction and insisted, "Then you best open yer fuckin' _eyes_, blondie. 'Cause yer goin' down the same goddamn path as her. You wanna grow up the _hard way_? You wanna see what it's _really_ like ta be all alone? Keep yer shit up an' you will. Ain't no Princess Wedding planned out fer yer future if you try sidlin' up to my brother the way ya are."

She knew it was counter-productive to feed into his argument, but she couldn't help herself. The liquor was still coursing through her veins, and the connections he insinuated were too insulting to ignore.

"Your mom and dad aren't the definition of what could happen in those situations, ya know," she argued. "Your dad might've been older and your mom might've been naive, but my parents had a big age gap, too—my mom even had a kid from a guy who wasn't in the picture anymore. And look how _they_ turned out. Sometimes, the right person can _help_ you grow. In a _good_ way. Whether you wanna believe it or not. Just because you've never seen it with your own eyes doesn't mean it's impossible."

"Bullshit," Merle retorted. "It's always the same, no matter which way you try an' spin it. My old man _ruined_ her. She shoulda known better. People like us—Dixons… we're _poison_. We got no damn business associatin' with the likes of y'all. It don't ever turn out good."

Beth stiffened. "Your dad was an awful person. That's not your mama's fault. It never was. He might've broke her, but it wasn't because he was a _Dixon_. It's because he was a piece of shit. His actions don't define who you and Daryl are—they don't define your futures."

"Oh yeah?" Merle countered, slashing a hand through the air. "Tell that to Papa Legba, smartass."

She cringed. "Stop saying his name."

"Why?!" He yelled. "The fuck you want me to censor myself for? _Huh?! _You gettin' soft on me now too, blondie? You gonna go runnin' off an' lettin' all yer fuckin' convictions fall to the wayside over some forty-somethin'-year-old redneck who ain't never had a girlfriend in his whole goddamn _life_?!"

Beth took in a deep breath and squeezed her eyes shut right before rolling over to face the wall. She mumbled, "There you go, jumpin' to conclusions again." Then she nuzzled down into the pillow, pointedly ignoring him.

"Can't you see I'm tryin' ta look out fer you?! If you wanna think I'm bein' facetious, you go on ahead an' keep thinkin' that. But what I'm talkin' 'bout don't pertain to keepin' _Daryl_ safe. It's about _you_ this time!"

She kept ignoring him. When he didn't get the response he'd expected, he heaved a loud sigh and cursed. Then his voice lowered, all the anger dissipating just like that.

It was no longer fury, but apologetic remorse, when he said, "The way my mama's life turned out… I don't wanna see that happen to you, Beth."

There was a beat. Beth's breath hitched in her chest, uncertain that she'd heard him right.

Then he sighed in exasperation and muttered, "I don't care 'bout much on the mortal plane, but I couldn't rest too easy down in Hell knowin' you was left to suffer the same life she had. Yer good people. I'll admit it, alright? You _happy_? And I'll also admit that you don't _deserve_ that… But I can already tell you wouldn't know no better. Sure as shit ain't gonna listen to some _dead guy_. An' yer pa ain't gonna be around much longer ta say otherwise; them siblings you got don't pay enough attention. You gotta grow up 'fore it's too late. But not like _that_… Nah. _Never_ like that."

She ruminated on his words for no more than a couple seconds before she finally gave in to temptation and sat up, facing him with narrowed eyes. She kept her hands clutched around the blanket at her chest. She simply couldn't ignore his ignorant presumptions for a moment longer.

She knew what he was implying. She knew what he thought he was trying to "warn" her away from. And she wasn't going to tolerate it anymore.

"You are _not_ your father. Neither is Daryl. He would _never_ treat me like that."

Without missing a beat, Merle tilted his head back and glared down his nose at her. "And how the fuck would _you_ know?"

But Beth didn't waver. "Because Daryl is _nothing_ like your dad."

Merle barked out a humorless laugh, a smirk barely cracking through his somber frown. "Y'know, from the moment I could start thinkin' fer myself, I always vowed I'd _never_ be like my old man…"

His smirk disappeared completely.

"And look how I turned out."

She snapped her lips shut, the blood draining from her face. She could feel her stomach slowly dropping as she took in the combination of his tone and facial expression.

_Is he different enough? __**Is**__ he…?_

"He's his own person," she argued quietly, though her voice was seriously lacking in conviction. "If anything, he probably _learned_ from your mistakes… He would _never_ become like your dad. Or you. _Ever_."

"Oh yeah?" Merle chuckled, low and emotionless. "Is _that_ what you think? 'Cause I got news for ya…"

He raised his eyebrows and set those icy blue orbs on her as he spoke with something that could only be described as foreboding.

"This cruel world's got a way of breakin' down the _best_ of us, girlfriend."

She didn't know what to say to that. She had no argument, even though she wanted to argue. She stared back, blinking dumbly. At a loss for words.

Merle shook his head. It looked like pity. Or shame.

"And Daryl ain't no exception."

Beth's heart was racing. She squeezed her eyes shut, though she could still see Merle in the backs of her eyelids. His words ran through her mind. Relentless repeats. Inescapable.

Then… everything went black.

For just a moment, she drifted away.

And there was someone _else_ in her head.

**to be continued…**

* * *

Happy Halloween! :)


End file.
